Hooray - worry warting over!!
Grandkids arrived safely back from France yesterday - and daughter's Cairo flight landed safely on Dutch soil this morning.
Eat your firey heart out Eyjafjollajukull!
Although I did read on online news this morning that besides still wafting over parts of Britain and Ireland, there is a new volcanic ash threat to Atlantic flights: i.e., UK-US. So good luck to all those travellers.
It seems this angry Icelandic giant could carry on spewing its guts - without respite - for a couple of years yet.
Meanwhile, youngest daughter has invited me to a small family reunion this afternoon.
Wonder what she's brought me....? Just kidding!
Volcano latest.
May 8, 2010
May 4, 2010
ARE YOU SEEING WHAT ISN'T THERE?
There is a distinct difference between accepting that you are glimpsing the ghost of a little black cat darting about your house - and of thinking that you are 'imagining things', every time said cat cavorts playfully at the periphery of your vision!I have no doubt, that the ghost of a little black cat has been living with me for a number of years now; and that she occasionally disappears for weeks at a time, to visit other members of my family in their own houses. (Sort of goes off on her 'holidays'!).
All this came to light of course when I casually, and half jokingly mentioned that I was being 'haunted' by this animal and surprised family members also admitted that they too sometimes 'saw' a little black cat, flitting silently around their houses.
We did have a real, live black cat once. In fact we had five family cats, during the years my children were growing up. All of whom came to us either as young strays, or were born in the house, or from another litter - and all lived to a ripe old age (17, 18, 19 and 20). All except the little black one that is. She was the first cat we ever had - a young stray (found by yours truly) starving and sick in the snow - and who when recovered, became mother to four kittens; two of whom found homes elsewhere and two we kept, because they got too big waiting for homes - and we'd become too soppy about them to want to part with them anyway...
Our little black mama cat was about 14 when she became very ill and had to be 'put to sleep'.
I sobbed all the way back from the vet's on the bus, with her little lifeless body wrapped in a blanket on my knee..... and buried her in the garden - and my heart ached for months. Nay, years!
What the heck, I hear you say. It's just a cat...
Yes, they were all 'just cats'; and they all got ill in the end, with quite serious old-age illnesses (brain tumour; hyperthyroidism/heart problems; kidney failure) and all had to be 'put to sleep' and buried in the garden. Except for the fifth one - a little grey and white cat. She moved with me to my present abode - where there is no garden - and I had to have her cremated and her ashes 'scattered at sea' in The Hague.
Actually, I was a bit bothered by that afterwards, because cats don't like water and it didn't 'feel right'. But there was no other choice (council rules and regulations) so it wouldn't therefore have surprised me, if she hadn't turned up on a few celestial visits - to reproach me for her soggy end...! But no. It's not her.
It's definitely the little black cat.
That's her in the photograph (taken when she was alive)!
On the other hand. For those of you who prefer a more rational explanation for my feline phantom, I have googled up this site:
http://www.amd.org/living-with-amd/33-charles-bonnet-syndrome.html
I came across the phenomenon of 'animal hallucination' during a psychology course.
It's not the worst hallucination in the world! Rather comforting actually. And I don't have problems with my eyes, apart from needing glasses for reading, so am still convinced that in mine and my family's' case, this is not some kind of brain/eye syndrome - but a true haunting! And just so you know, our hearts and minds will remain open to our little black cat ghostie, for as long as she needs us. And that's just purrrrrrfect!!!
May 3, 2010
(L)EEK!!!
This is all that is left of a rather large leek I have been chomping on - now and then - throughout the past week. (Finely chopped leek, sprinkled liberally onto a layer of old cheese and enclosed within wholewheat bread. Yummy!).
The only trouble with raw leeks (and old cheese too, for that matter...) is that the memory of them lingers on in the mouth for days....and days....and days..
Not normally a problem - unless your partner complains(!) or, a large piece of enamel breaks off the back of one of your few remaining upper molars - and you have to promptly visit the dentist!
That latter thing has happened (of course!) - and leek addicted Geri has now emailed said dentist for an emergency 'please squeeze-me-in' appointment; and is regularly checking the in/email box for a reply.
In the meantime, toothpaste and mouthwash are being regularly and anxiously employed - and the old gums and tongue are quite sore with all the extra attention!
That'll teach me.
Trouble is, I can still taste and smell that leek! Have heard that parsley helps extinguish the odour of garlic but I don't have any readily available - and anyway, it probably doesn't work on leeks? There are plenty of dandylion leaves along the hedgerows though....so perhaps I'll give those a try. Although, they might not work either - and knowing my luck, will also stain the teeth bright green!
Just imagine the dentist's shock, when I open my mouth and he stares down into that green, evil smelling pit.....! Aarrgghh!!
Meanwhile, the old tongue is being irresistibly and continually drawn to the jagged cavity in the back of that molar - and is poking itself ragged! If this doesn't put me off raw leeks for the rest of my life - don't know what will.
(L)eeek!!!!!
May 1, 2010
COLOUR ME CRAZY!
I have an unusual craving to see colours today. In fact, I need to see them so much, my head and eyes are aching with the longing of it.
Violet; indigo; shimmering blue; emerald green; bright lemon yellow; passionate orange; firey red! I want them all!
The sky outside the window is a misty, whitey-grey; and every parked car within my line of vision is either dark grey, dark blue or dark green.
People cycling and walking past are hardly noticeable in their beige summer rain coats.
No colours anywhere.
A misty rain is falling - but there are no sunbeams to paint a prism through the clouds.
Hmm.... I see grandson no. 1. has left his coloured chalks behind.... Maybe a spot of self made 'street art' will brighten things up around here?!
Saw two students draw an exact replica of the Mona Lisa on the paving stones in the town center last year. Won't attempt that - but a few rainbow patterned flagstones just outside the front door should brighten things up today!
And unavoidably p**s the neighbours off - although that wouldn't be my intention.
(They are always washing the pavement over here. It's a Dutch compulsion. Stoop washing. Drives me nuts).
Here's to colours! Long may they brighten the eye and lift the spirits!
Violet; indigo; shimmering blue; emerald green; bright lemon yellow; passionate orange; firey red! I want them all!
The sky outside the window is a misty, whitey-grey; and every parked car within my line of vision is either dark grey, dark blue or dark green.
People cycling and walking past are hardly noticeable in their beige summer rain coats.
No colours anywhere.
A misty rain is falling - but there are no sunbeams to paint a prism through the clouds.
Hmm.... I see grandson no. 1. has left his coloured chalks behind.... Maybe a spot of self made 'street art' will brighten things up around here?!
Saw two students draw an exact replica of the Mona Lisa on the paving stones in the town center last year. Won't attempt that - but a few rainbow patterned flagstones just outside the front door should brighten things up today!
And unavoidably p**s the neighbours off - although that wouldn't be my intention.
(They are always washing the pavement over here. It's a Dutch compulsion. Stoop washing. Drives me nuts).
Here's to colours! Long may they brighten the eye and lift the spirits!
Apr 22, 2010
EYJAFJOLLAJUKULL...!
I suppose this isn't so much a new Post, as a bit of 'worry warting'.....
1). Youngest daughter flying off (volcanic ash permitting) to warmer climes at the end of next week, for a well earned 7 day break of culture, rest and relaxation - without the kids... First time ever - and mixed feelings... (Hers, not mine. She deserves this).
2). Grandkids motoring off to a holiday park in France with their dad and other grandparents for that same week...
3). Fast forward: Dad and kids return; Mum/daughter is about to fly home - and then that second and much larger 'beast of Eyjafjollajukullamaflip' (next to the one that's spewing up now) blows its gasket (!) and strands daughter in the Middle-East for the unforeseeable future!!
4). Dad goes back to work and other grandparents back home to the other end of Holland - and Grandma Geri packs a bag and nips up 'post haste' to daughter's house, to care for the grandkids.....
5). Not that I mind that, at all. Already help out now two days and one night a week. A few more days will be all the more fun - as long as daughter is safe and the tour company look after her - and bus(?) train(?) or sail(?) her home again, without it costing the earth... and the kids don't put the telly on during the day - 'cus I always fall asleep in front of it!! (And if those two little 'monsters' suss that one out.... oh boy)!
O.M.G.! What am I saying? This isn't like me at all! The old Geri can always seem to find the 'sense of ridiculous' in most of life's situations - so what's with all this panicky stuff....?
Aeroplanes; volcanic ash; looking after two very young kids properly - for lord knows how long? Cleaning, cooking, (their dad can do the shopping) bringing and fetching to school and nursery; not forgetting to fetch their pet cats back from the cat kennels; remembering to take my pills...
You know what... I think it's time for a big mug of morning coffee and a walk in the park - and a fresh psychological reboot to this weirdly foggy day!
Apr 17, 2010
RAG 'N BONE!
This post was inspired by 'Coffee Helps'. A fascinating blog written by an Irish lass, depicting her frustrating and often comical struggle for 'survival' (and understanding!) in the S. Korean teaching world.
It was whilst reading Hail's latest South Korean adventure (i.e., predicament!) on Coffee Helps this morning, that I was jolted back in time, to the noisy street vendors of long ago British childhood.
Where did he go to? That deliciously scary, scruffy looking fellow - the Rag 'n Bone man! Attired in miss-matched, ill fitting, worn out clothes and (most confusing of all to little girl me) a pair of grey woollen gloves, with the fingers cut off (?!) (What was that all about...?).
Stopping at regular intervals he would cup his weirdly gloved hands to his mouth and yell his time worn mantra:
"Rag 'n Bone! Rag 'n Bone!"
His gigantic old cart-horse, with dinner plate sized hairy hooves, would be pulling a cart filled high with old clothes and metal; and if you were lucky enough, your 'Mam' would give you a broken clock or a few old garments to dispose of, along with a carrot or slice of bread for the horse - and the 'Rag 'n Bone' man would as often as not, give you a tiny goldfish in return! Sadly though, these poor little creatures would almost always die within a week or two. So after about the fourth 'fish burial', complete with dandelion wreath and 'cross' made out of clothes pegs and usual floods of childish tears - Mam's word was law. 'No more goldfish!'
But the comfort of sweetmeats was never far away! I refer of course to that bain of parental life; the 'Ice Cream' van!
What a "*!#@^!" nuisance that was! (And I speak from adult experience too, since it was still around after I grew up and had my own first child). At least four times a day during the Summer months, along our street he would cruise; chiming his wares and sending kids mad with disappointment (and tantrums) if Mam said 'No'! Which was often.
Best of all though, was that one occasion when the 'Gypsies' (can I still say that?) and their ponies came a-calling! Twopence, for a ride down the street; where you would then be yanked off and another child dumped on - and you had to walk back. But who cared! You'd dared to ride a 'Gypsy Pony' in front of everyone. However..... on second thoughts....
Up until this point, as I relive the ride, I had always thought I'd enjoyed it.... I remember being allowed a 'go', because I was three years old and considered big enough to stay on - but even as I think about it, I am wriggling on my stool! The discomfort of tiny legs stretched wide across the pony's neck, small hands clutching in desperation to a flying mane and the actual pain in my rear as the pony's owner (a laughing young woman with gold earrings) thwacked the animal on its rump, making it break into a trot and bumping me mercilessly up and down. Ow! Ow! Ow! And come to think of it, as memory clears, I now remember feeling great panic and being lifted off after just a few trots. Huh! Have never wanted to ride any kind of Equine since - and that's probably why.
And of course, there was the good old Coal Man...!
"Sack-a-coal! Sack-a-coal!"
Trudging from house-to-house with his horse drawn cart loaded with heavy, grimy sacks, which he would lift onto his back and carry up the garden paths to dump into the coal 'holes' or sheds. So delightfully filthy, with his teeth shining white through all the black dust. We kids loved him and Grandad loved his horse, sending us regularly out with bucket and spade to collect manure for the roses! (2008 post).
But on final reflection, perhaps the best Street Vendor of all - was the Indian Peddler. No noisy shouting; no pain; no dead animals; just a gentle tap on the door and there he would be - resplendent in suit and tie and all topped off with a wondrously mystic silk turban. Whilst at his feet, a huge, battered old suitcase would be opened invitingly, to display a myriad of Eastern treasures!
Oh what wonders that suitcase contained (!) and Mam could rarely resist buying just a little something. A brightly coloured, jewelled butterfly hair slide for me and/or some trimming ribbon or nylons for herself.
All things considered, I do prefer the modernity and labour saving devices of contemporary life - but if it ever came to a competition between today's Vending Machines and the Street Vendors of yesteryear - I know which I would vote for! And it would not be the kind that swallow your money and don't give change and then try to snap your hand off whilst you attempt to retrieve your wares from behind a too tightly sprung hatchway door or window!
Well at least they are not noisy, I hear you say.
All right then. What about those street corner Yobs on motorbikes and mopeds, roaring past the house at midnight...grrr...!
P.S. I forgot to mention the Milkman!
.....Empty bottles on the front doorstep, along with an assortment of equally empty jam jars, intended to cover the tops of the full bottles and protect the cream topping from the tom-tits!! Happy days!
(Do they still have door-to-door milkmen in Britain? I've been gone so long..............).
It was whilst reading Hail's latest South Korean adventure (i.e., predicament!) on Coffee Helps this morning, that I was jolted back in time, to the noisy street vendors of long ago British childhood.
Where did he go to? That deliciously scary, scruffy looking fellow - the Rag 'n Bone man! Attired in miss-matched, ill fitting, worn out clothes and (most confusing of all to little girl me) a pair of grey woollen gloves, with the fingers cut off (?!) (What was that all about...?).
Stopping at regular intervals he would cup his weirdly gloved hands to his mouth and yell his time worn mantra:
"Rag 'n Bone! Rag 'n Bone!"
His gigantic old cart-horse, with dinner plate sized hairy hooves, would be pulling a cart filled high with old clothes and metal; and if you were lucky enough, your 'Mam' would give you a broken clock or a few old garments to dispose of, along with a carrot or slice of bread for the horse - and the 'Rag 'n Bone' man would as often as not, give you a tiny goldfish in return! Sadly though, these poor little creatures would almost always die within a week or two. So after about the fourth 'fish burial', complete with dandelion wreath and 'cross' made out of clothes pegs and usual floods of childish tears - Mam's word was law. 'No more goldfish!'
But the comfort of sweetmeats was never far away! I refer of course to that bain of parental life; the 'Ice Cream' van!
What a "*!#@^!" nuisance that was! (And I speak from adult experience too, since it was still around after I grew up and had my own first child). At least four times a day during the Summer months, along our street he would cruise; chiming his wares and sending kids mad with disappointment (and tantrums) if Mam said 'No'! Which was often.
Best of all though, was that one occasion when the 'Gypsies' (can I still say that?) and their ponies came a-calling! Twopence, for a ride down the street; where you would then be yanked off and another child dumped on - and you had to walk back. But who cared! You'd dared to ride a 'Gypsy Pony' in front of everyone. However..... on second thoughts....
Up until this point, as I relive the ride, I had always thought I'd enjoyed it.... I remember being allowed a 'go', because I was three years old and considered big enough to stay on - but even as I think about it, I am wriggling on my stool! The discomfort of tiny legs stretched wide across the pony's neck, small hands clutching in desperation to a flying mane and the actual pain in my rear as the pony's owner (a laughing young woman with gold earrings) thwacked the animal on its rump, making it break into a trot and bumping me mercilessly up and down. Ow! Ow! Ow! And come to think of it, as memory clears, I now remember feeling great panic and being lifted off after just a few trots. Huh! Have never wanted to ride any kind of Equine since - and that's probably why.
And of course, there was the good old Coal Man...!
"Sack-a-coal! Sack-a-coal!"
Trudging from house-to-house with his horse drawn cart loaded with heavy, grimy sacks, which he would lift onto his back and carry up the garden paths to dump into the coal 'holes' or sheds. So delightfully filthy, with his teeth shining white through all the black dust. We kids loved him and Grandad loved his horse, sending us regularly out with bucket and spade to collect manure for the roses! (2008 post).
But on final reflection, perhaps the best Street Vendor of all - was the Indian Peddler. No noisy shouting; no pain; no dead animals; just a gentle tap on the door and there he would be - resplendent in suit and tie and all topped off with a wondrously mystic silk turban. Whilst at his feet, a huge, battered old suitcase would be opened invitingly, to display a myriad of Eastern treasures!
Oh what wonders that suitcase contained (!) and Mam could rarely resist buying just a little something. A brightly coloured, jewelled butterfly hair slide for me and/or some trimming ribbon or nylons for herself.
All things considered, I do prefer the modernity and labour saving devices of contemporary life - but if it ever came to a competition between today's Vending Machines and the Street Vendors of yesteryear - I know which I would vote for! And it would not be the kind that swallow your money and don't give change and then try to snap your hand off whilst you attempt to retrieve your wares from behind a too tightly sprung hatchway door or window!
Well at least they are not noisy, I hear you say.
All right then. What about those street corner Yobs on motorbikes and mopeds, roaring past the house at midnight...grrr...!
P.S. I forgot to mention the Milkman!
.....Empty bottles on the front doorstep, along with an assortment of equally empty jam jars, intended to cover the tops of the full bottles and protect the cream topping from the tom-tits!! Happy days!
(Do they still have door-to-door milkmen in Britain? I've been gone so long..............).
Apr 12, 2010
A FISHY TALE!
Harping back to the 'shark nightmares' of a few posts ago, I finally decided that the best way to vanquish these night terrors - and stop getting virtual (but feels like real!) chunks taken out of me now and then - was to confront this particular 'bogey man' head on - and bop him on his virtual nose!!
So with a right old showdown in mind, I put my camera under my pillow, drank my cocoa, went to sleep - and look what I 'caught'!
Laying hidden between fronds of waving seaweed and breathing without tanks *smirk*, I filmed him (er...no.. hang on a second - isn't that a her....?!) all night long, until she eventually swam right out of my sub-conscious for good and all! (I hope....).
Well all right then. The truth of the matter is, I took this photo at the aquarium/zoo, in Rotterdam, with reinforced glass between us. Guess I'll never be a marine biologist!
Except perhaps in dreams...?
Mar 28, 2010
GOING DUTCH IN IRELAND!
Let's see... what are the Netherlands famous for:
Tulips
Clogs
Windmills
Gouda cheese
Delft pottery
Dikes
Coffee Shops
Frisian Cows
Raw herrings with onions
Genever
Canals
Street Organs
Euthanasia
and Cycling !
Bicycles! Which (with or without child's seats front and back) seem to be doing wonderfully well in the export market. This time to the Emerald Isle!
This should please the 'EU Greens'. And maybe earn us clog dancers a little dispensation for the ammonia fog from our cows(?) and not to forget the ungodly whiff (something like a mixture of rotting gardinias and landfill) from our coffee shops? No wait - the windmills largely waft that away...
That just leaves the cheese then - but Gouda is rather mild, so no real bother there. And after a few old Genevers (gins), you usually end up reeling off into one of the canals anyway - and don't give a hoot about industrial aromas, one way or the other.
(That's where the Euthanasia bit comes in: I.E. they feed you vast quantaties of gin and joints after sunset - and then rent you a bike)!
There are a lot of bikes in Dutch canals.. But generally speaking, cycling is very good for you - although I haven't attempted it since I got knocked off mine by a car in 1999 and broke my hand.
But cycling is also apparantly good for the environment as well. I mean how can it not be? Unless the 'aroma' from your panting breath after eating a few raw herrings and onions can be counted as pollution.....?
So go to it Ireland! And if you end up with broken bones in a ditch somewhere, we have tulips to brighten the eye and more genever to cheer you up...!
http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/world/ireland/article7078978.ece
Tulips
Clogs
Windmills
Gouda cheese
Delft pottery
Dikes
Coffee Shops
Frisian Cows
Raw herrings with onions
Genever
Canals
Street Organs
Euthanasia
and Cycling !
Bicycles! Which (with or without child's seats front and back) seem to be doing wonderfully well in the export market. This time to the Emerald Isle!
This should please the 'EU Greens'. And maybe earn us clog dancers a little dispensation for the ammonia fog from our cows(?) and not to forget the ungodly whiff (something like a mixture of rotting gardinias and landfill) from our coffee shops? No wait - the windmills largely waft that away...
That just leaves the cheese then - but Gouda is rather mild, so no real bother there. And after a few old Genevers (gins), you usually end up reeling off into one of the canals anyway - and don't give a hoot about industrial aromas, one way or the other.
(That's where the Euthanasia bit comes in: I.E. they feed you vast quantaties of gin and joints after sunset - and then rent you a bike)!
There are a lot of bikes in Dutch canals.. But generally speaking, cycling is very good for you - although I haven't attempted it since I got knocked off mine by a car in 1999 and broke my hand.
But cycling is also apparantly good for the environment as well. I mean how can it not be? Unless the 'aroma' from your panting breath after eating a few raw herrings and onions can be counted as pollution.....?
So go to it Ireland! And if you end up with broken bones in a ditch somewhere, we have tulips to brighten the eye and more genever to cheer you up...!
http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/world/ireland/article7078978.ece
Mar 25, 2010
MIND OVER MATTER!
Is it possible do you think, that computer screens can send out invisible, sinister rays, that surreptitiously drain a users memory?
Either that - because since becoming a computer user the old grey cells are definitely in rapid meltdown - or, I have finally become completely paranoid in imagining the computer is 'out to get me'!
This morning was the clincher. After signing in and finding everything gone - and I do mean everything - starting with the 'gorse bushes in Scotland' desktop background (unfathomably replaced with a blue background with Dell written through it) right down to all files in Documents; all contents of Outlook Express Mail; all contents of Favourites; etc., etc.. In fact, the whole computer looked like a freshly bought one, just waiting to be programmed with all my personal details!
Horrified (you know the sinking feeling in the stomach thing..) I clicked on 'browser choice' - a new icon on the desktop menu - that I vaguely remember presented itself a few days ago and refused to be clicked away - and then choosing Google Chrome, started all over again filling in account details etc.....sob!
Didn't understand a single thing I was being asked... (frustrated tears rolling down soggy cheeks - waaahh!) so returned to the strange Dell desktop picture, clicked on Start - and rebooted.
Wondrously - once everything had started up again the original desktop Scottish gorse picture was back (!) and all the old menu icons...... and lo and behold even O.E. mail was back with all files intact; and all files in Documents and Pictures (with priceless family photos) were present and correct......
The only thing is, I am now scared to turn the computer off, in case everything is gone again, either from my head, or the computer (or both) the next time I log in (?)
Is it my mind - or is it really the computer playing tricks....(ponder, mumble...)?
Know what - I think it's time for a spot of comfort food! Made a Shepherds Pie a few days ago and it's always much nicer the second time around, warmed up in the frying pan with all the ingredients mushing together in one big tasty mass - Yum!
Till later then everyone... It is not polite to type with your mouth full - and besides that, the computer might decide it wants a byte! Hee-hee, ha-ha (mad cackling)!!
Either that - because since becoming a computer user the old grey cells are definitely in rapid meltdown - or, I have finally become completely paranoid in imagining the computer is 'out to get me'!
This morning was the clincher. After signing in and finding everything gone - and I do mean everything - starting with the 'gorse bushes in Scotland' desktop background (unfathomably replaced with a blue background with Dell written through it) right down to all files in Documents; all contents of Outlook Express Mail; all contents of Favourites; etc., etc.. In fact, the whole computer looked like a freshly bought one, just waiting to be programmed with all my personal details!
Horrified (you know the sinking feeling in the stomach thing..) I clicked on 'browser choice' - a new icon on the desktop menu - that I vaguely remember presented itself a few days ago and refused to be clicked away - and then choosing Google Chrome, started all over again filling in account details etc.....sob!
Didn't understand a single thing I was being asked... (frustrated tears rolling down soggy cheeks - waaahh!) so returned to the strange Dell desktop picture, clicked on Start - and rebooted.
Wondrously - once everything had started up again the original desktop Scottish gorse picture was back (!) and all the old menu icons...... and lo and behold even O.E. mail was back with all files intact; and all files in Documents and Pictures (with priceless family photos) were present and correct......
The only thing is, I am now scared to turn the computer off, in case everything is gone again, either from my head, or the computer (or both) the next time I log in (?)
Is it my mind - or is it really the computer playing tricks....(ponder, mumble...)?
Know what - I think it's time for a spot of comfort food! Made a Shepherds Pie a few days ago and it's always much nicer the second time around, warmed up in the frying pan with all the ingredients mushing together in one big tasty mass - Yum!
Till later then everyone... It is not polite to type with your mouth full - and besides that, the computer might decide it wants a byte! Hee-hee, ha-ha (mad cackling)!!
Mar 8, 2010
NIT-PICKIN A CHICKEN!
Just recently I had to face my eldest daughter’s indignation.
Daughter: (confrontational). Mam! Do you remember when I was a little girl and you read me the story of Chicken Licken?
Daughter: (confrontational). Mam! Do you remember when I was a little girl and you read me the story of Chicken Licken?
Me: Er..yes..
Daughter: Well, you lied to me!
Me: (warily). I did…?
Daughter: Yes! Remember how an acorn falls on Chicken Licken’s head and he thinks the sky is falling in and so he sets off to tell the King? And on the way he meets Henny Penny, Cocky Locky, Ducky Lucky, Drakey Lakey, Turkey Lurky and Foxy Loxy, who all want to go with him?
Me: (bewildered). Yes…
Daughter: Well Foxy Loxy apparently said that he was sure his wife would want to tag along too, so he invited them all back to his den to meet her – but once there, he gobbled them all up!
Me: (nervously). Yes, well I’m sure he did. Yes, he did.
Daughter: (indignantly). Well you told me that Foxy Loxy invited them all back to meet his wife and they all sat down and had jam sandwiches!!!
Me: (spluttering) Ahem. Yes, well, you were so young. What were you? Three? Four? You were all excited and enjoying the story so much, I couldn’t bare to tell you the cold, evil truth and wipe that happy smile off your little face. So yes. I lied!
Daughter: (tongue in cheek) Well, I can understand that - but you should have told me later. You shouldn’t lie to kids. I went through childhood defending your version!
Me: (contrite). Okay. I’m sorry. I forgot. But look at it this way. You slept serenely afterwards. No nightmares of being eaten by foxes. No years of therapy needed.
Daughter: There is that, of course. Now… about Red Riding Hood and the Wolf………?
Me: (gulp..).
Moral of this true conversation: (Yes, surreal as it seems, it really did take place!). Don’t ever tell fibs to your kids - even with their welfare in mind - because they will always come back to roost! Even more than 40 years later. LOL!
Mar 7, 2010
NIGHTMARE BEASTIES!
On holiday at last! Pure bliss - and there was little me - Geri in paradise! Knee deep in a sparkling blue sea and gazing joyfully up and down an empty ribbon of white sanded beach, that stretched for miles to both sides of me.
Dabbling in the gentle waves with both hands, I turned lazily and gazed towards a darker patch of sea just in front of me. This dark area indicated a sudden drop into deep water; and there were darker patches at regular intervals all along the shoreline. One minute you would be shuffling through the gentle swell and the next, swimming high above an underwater tropical world!
The idea of a swim was appealing - but before I could don my snorkel and step forward, the sand shifted violently beneath my feet and my heart was suddenly thudding with horror as the dark patch was swirling upwards out of the water to meet me! What in heaven's name....?! And then the dark patch tore off my leg!
It was a dream...? It had to be! Another one of those blasted shark nightmares! Ughh!....*shudder*.
All it takes is half an hour of National Geographic in the late evening - and there I am in slumberland, gathering up severed limbs!!! You would think I'd have learned by now not to watch late night Oceanic programs.
In childhood, it was snakes. The funny thing about that though, was that I did not need to see or hear about snakes beforehand for them to infiltrate my dreams. All it took was a bout of feverish bronchitis (which was often) and young Geri would be plunged into a pit of slithering, entwining vipers - and it would only take one tiny movement.... and they would strike and strike and strike....aarrgghh!! Woe betide me, but I always thought I could get out of the pit by walking v-e-r-y slowly. But it never worked. I always got thoroughly bitten - and woke up gasping and sweating with fear.
The sub-conscious is very strange, don't you think?
But there were nice dreams too. When I was very young, I remember seeing a picture of the boy God Mercury, with tiny wings on his heels. All he had to do was flap these tiny wings and up he went! It made such an impression on the wee sub-conscious, that it wasn't long before I too was flying through the air - up and away, above towns and countrysides... lovely! The best dreams were when I would run a few steps and suddenly be flying over the heads of my surprised classmates and family....
The funny thing is, I never dreamed about the landings. Up, up and away and the next thing - back in bed.
Haven't dreamed the flying dreams since childhood. But they were nice and I'd like them back again. So, think I'll swap those Nature programs for Aeronautical ones. Trouble is, the only flying documentary I have ever seen on Nat. Geo., is: 'Seconds from Disaster'!!!
Guess in future I'll just have to turn the telly off straight after 'Eastenders'..... (...help!)
Dabbling in the gentle waves with both hands, I turned lazily and gazed towards a darker patch of sea just in front of me. This dark area indicated a sudden drop into deep water; and there were darker patches at regular intervals all along the shoreline. One minute you would be shuffling through the gentle swell and the next, swimming high above an underwater tropical world!
The idea of a swim was appealing - but before I could don my snorkel and step forward, the sand shifted violently beneath my feet and my heart was suddenly thudding with horror as the dark patch was swirling upwards out of the water to meet me! What in heaven's name....?! And then the dark patch tore off my leg!
It was a dream...? It had to be! Another one of those blasted shark nightmares! Ughh!....*shudder*.
All it takes is half an hour of National Geographic in the late evening - and there I am in slumberland, gathering up severed limbs!!! You would think I'd have learned by now not to watch late night Oceanic programs.
In childhood, it was snakes. The funny thing about that though, was that I did not need to see or hear about snakes beforehand for them to infiltrate my dreams. All it took was a bout of feverish bronchitis (which was often) and young Geri would be plunged into a pit of slithering, entwining vipers - and it would only take one tiny movement.... and they would strike and strike and strike....aarrgghh!! Woe betide me, but I always thought I could get out of the pit by walking v-e-r-y slowly. But it never worked. I always got thoroughly bitten - and woke up gasping and sweating with fear.
The sub-conscious is very strange, don't you think?
But there were nice dreams too. When I was very young, I remember seeing a picture of the boy God Mercury, with tiny wings on his heels. All he had to do was flap these tiny wings and up he went! It made such an impression on the wee sub-conscious, that it wasn't long before I too was flying through the air - up and away, above towns and countrysides... lovely! The best dreams were when I would run a few steps and suddenly be flying over the heads of my surprised classmates and family....
The funny thing is, I never dreamed about the landings. Up, up and away and the next thing - back in bed.
Haven't dreamed the flying dreams since childhood. But they were nice and I'd like them back again. So, think I'll swap those Nature programs for Aeronautical ones. Trouble is, the only flying documentary I have ever seen on Nat. Geo., is: 'Seconds from Disaster'!!!
Guess in future I'll just have to turn the telly off straight after 'Eastenders'..... (...help!)
Feb 13, 2010
FOUND!
AHA!!!!!!!!!!!! FOUND THEM!!!!!!! *Happy dance*
This is a follow up to the posting of yesterday and the mystery of the missing Bookmarks.
They were skulking in Notebook - which I never EVER use..? So goodness knows how they got there(?)
Had just re-googled the problem into the Search bar and one of the suggestions I happened across, was to click on Notebook. (Would never have thought of that by myself, in a thousand years. Didn't even know where it was).
Click, click click! Settings/Google Account Settings/Notebook - and lo and behold, there were all my missing URLs! (Come to Mamma!!!)
Still haven't found out where the Bookmark button is hiding itself (?) and it would be much handier to have it back on the Google Toolbar. But never mind, if it is still hidden away after a week, I will borrow my neighbour's (mannetje) 'man'.
This 'man' is another neighbour, whom the first neighbour knows (and I don't) and who being possessed of IT knowledge, will come over and tinker about with your computer and 'retrieve things', for a small honorarium. (I hope that means money!).
Bye for now. Have a nice computer day!
This is a follow up to the posting of yesterday and the mystery of the missing Bookmarks.
They were skulking in Notebook - which I never EVER use..? So goodness knows how they got there(?)
Had just re-googled the problem into the Search bar and one of the suggestions I happened across, was to click on Notebook. (Would never have thought of that by myself, in a thousand years. Didn't even know where it was).
Click, click click! Settings/Google Account Settings/Notebook - and lo and behold, there were all my missing URLs! (Come to Mamma!!!)
Still haven't found out where the Bookmark button is hiding itself (?) and it would be much handier to have it back on the Google Toolbar. But never mind, if it is still hidden away after a week, I will borrow my neighbour's (mannetje) 'man'.
This 'man' is another neighbour, whom the first neighbour knows (and I don't) and who being possessed of IT knowledge, will come over and tinker about with your computer and 'retrieve things', for a small honorarium. (I hope that means money!).
Bye for now. Have a nice computer day!
Feb 12, 2010
FIDGITY WIDGIT!
What an annoying nuisance (!*#@!!) Google can be - and that's putting it mildly.
It's swiped my 'bookmarks'!
The whole bookmark widget button was there in its entirety on Tuesday morning, which is the last time I logged on before today - and now it's not.
Gone. Stolen. Foetsie! (Slang dutch for.....gone, disappeared, vanished without trace).
So now what? Have been typing all bookmarked blog names and other regularly frequented sites, into the Search bar all morning - and it's been quite a task (bah!).
And so here we are, half a day further and after clicking everything in sight on screen (and off) trying to find and re-install that missing bookmark icon, all I have to show for it is a finger with a nervous tic, which will probably get me into a lot of trouble on public transport - but so far, no 'bookmark icon thingy'.
WAAHHH!
GOOGLE!! What are you doing to me??? Why are you doing it??? And where have you hidden my bookmarks???
Feb 5, 2010
MY SUBWAY (K)NIGHT !
Coming home on the 'Rotterdam-Hague' above ground subway late last night and almost at my station, I was accosted by a well dressed, elderly and seemingly confused gentleman.
"Aha!" Says he, addressing myself and a young woman sitting just behind me.
"Aha, two angels sent to comfort me!"
As I glanced at the young woman - who looked alarmed - and stood up in preparation to leave the train, the elderly gentleman spread his arms wide, blocking my exit from the seat.
"Well," I replied calmly, brushing him firmly aside, "this 'angel' is a bit old."
"No matter!" Answered he, following me eagerly to the door.
The train swayed and I grabbed a pole, while the elderly gentleman attempted to grab my hand on the pole.
"Listen to me," I said, in my best (Dutch) matter-of-fact, calming voice, whilst gazing unblinkingly and firmly into his rheumy old eyes. " Sit yourself down and wait quietly, until you reach your Stop. All right?"
"Oh what a pity," said he, moving off quickly down the carriage to accost another female. He had obviously decided there was no chance with one of his own generation, because his next victim was a pretty teenager, who let out a yelp, at whatever it was he said to her - and shouted at him to "Sodermieter op!!!" (Dutch for F... off!).
By now we had reached my station and as I stepped onto the platform the elderly gentleman was hurrying back up the carriage towards me (!). Too late! I was outside - and a young man stepping off at a door further up, waited for me to walk up beside him, before asking me if 'that old bloke' had been bothering me (?) and that he was just becoming aware of the situation and feeling that he should 'do something' about it, when 'the old perv' had moved away to pester somebody else! I replied that I had felt that the elderly gentleman was more confused, than dangerous - but still you never can tell - and I thanked him for his concern.
As we began descending the steps to street level the train was slowly leaving the station and we caught a glimpse of 'the old perv' peering forlornly after me through the glass door (!)
The young man solicitously slowed his pace to match mine, accompanying me safely down the unlit steps to the pavement, before calling a cheery goodnight and dashing off to catch an approaching tram - and as I continued my journey, I couldn't help but feel a warm glow of appreciation - and an inward chuckle. Chivalry towards elderly ladies with silver hair and stiff old knees (takes me a while to get down steps sometimes) is not dead it seems!
Bless that young man - and bless the old one too. For alas, I fear he may well be the most vulnerable of us all.
P.S.
I always carry my keys in my hand whilst walking down unbusy streets at night. Something I was told as a child: If someone grabs you around the neck from behind, jab the key up over your shoulder into the assailants eye (!) Yuk. Luckily haven't had to try it yet...
"Aha!" Says he, addressing myself and a young woman sitting just behind me.
"Aha, two angels sent to comfort me!"
As I glanced at the young woman - who looked alarmed - and stood up in preparation to leave the train, the elderly gentleman spread his arms wide, blocking my exit from the seat.
"Well," I replied calmly, brushing him firmly aside, "this 'angel' is a bit old."
"No matter!" Answered he, following me eagerly to the door.
The train swayed and I grabbed a pole, while the elderly gentleman attempted to grab my hand on the pole.
"Listen to me," I said, in my best (Dutch) matter-of-fact, calming voice, whilst gazing unblinkingly and firmly into his rheumy old eyes. " Sit yourself down and wait quietly, until you reach your Stop. All right?"
"Oh what a pity," said he, moving off quickly down the carriage to accost another female. He had obviously decided there was no chance with one of his own generation, because his next victim was a pretty teenager, who let out a yelp, at whatever it was he said to her - and shouted at him to "Sodermieter op!!!" (Dutch for F... off!).
By now we had reached my station and as I stepped onto the platform the elderly gentleman was hurrying back up the carriage towards me (!). Too late! I was outside - and a young man stepping off at a door further up, waited for me to walk up beside him, before asking me if 'that old bloke' had been bothering me (?) and that he was just becoming aware of the situation and feeling that he should 'do something' about it, when 'the old perv' had moved away to pester somebody else! I replied that I had felt that the elderly gentleman was more confused, than dangerous - but still you never can tell - and I thanked him for his concern.
As we began descending the steps to street level the train was slowly leaving the station and we caught a glimpse of 'the old perv' peering forlornly after me through the glass door (!)
The young man solicitously slowed his pace to match mine, accompanying me safely down the unlit steps to the pavement, before calling a cheery goodnight and dashing off to catch an approaching tram - and as I continued my journey, I couldn't help but feel a warm glow of appreciation - and an inward chuckle. Chivalry towards elderly ladies with silver hair and stiff old knees (takes me a while to get down steps sometimes) is not dead it seems!
Bless that young man - and bless the old one too. For alas, I fear he may well be the most vulnerable of us all.
P.S.
I always carry my keys in my hand whilst walking down unbusy streets at night. Something I was told as a child: If someone grabs you around the neck from behind, jab the key up over your shoulder into the assailants eye (!) Yuk. Luckily haven't had to try it yet...
Jan 24, 2010
FLITTING THOUGHTS
Gazing out of the window, at a sneaky new fall of night-time snow, I am reminded of buttercups and daisies. Which doesn't make much sense, I know - except of course that on parting the curtains, I was expecting to see the clear streets of yesterday, with their promise of Spring.
Fickle weather. But never mind, I can still dream of buttercups and daisies - which reminds me of a hymn we used to sing in our amazingly high young voices, at Sunday School:
"Daisies are our si-il-ver, buttercups our gooold..."
Free riches.
Which puts me in mind of Church for some reason. Probably because that is where the grown-ups would disappear to after dumping us at SS - and most of them (the grown-ups) were not rich at all. Which reminds me of that saying: 'As poor as a church mouse'....
Why is a church mouse considered to be poor? Seems to me it has quite an affluent existence, in a mostly quiet (except on Sundays) dry place, with access to an abundance of alter flowers, wafer crumbs and drops of spilled wine. Seems to me, a church mouse would be partying day and night!
Still, mice are not a popular animal. Which by a huge leap of the imagination reminds me of a 'school boy howler':
Teacher: I want you to write an essay on the House of Lords.
School boy (writing industriously): In the H of L's the men are called Peers, because they peer about a lot. And they wear cornets on their heads and their robes are trimmed with vermin...
Which reminds me of a Dutch song:
I saw a mouse (warble).
Where?
There! There on the stair - right there... A little mouse with clogs on..
Well I declare!
Going clip-clippity clop, on the staair! Oh yeah..!"
Which puts me in mind of another Dutch song about 'Tulips in Amsterdam'. Which makes me think of Spring.........and buttercups and daisies...
........and that infernal snow!
Which makes me think of 'whiskers on kittens and bright woolen mittens....tra-la'!!
'And they're coming to take me away, ha-ha-hee-hee, to the funny farm, where life is beautiful all the time and I'll be happy to see those nice young men in their nice white coats and they're coming to take me awaaay heyhey!'
Did I mention that it was Sunday?
Fickle weather. But never mind, I can still dream of buttercups and daisies - which reminds me of a hymn we used to sing in our amazingly high young voices, at Sunday School:
"Daisies are our si-il-ver, buttercups our gooold..."
Free riches.
Which puts me in mind of Church for some reason. Probably because that is where the grown-ups would disappear to after dumping us at SS - and most of them (the grown-ups) were not rich at all. Which reminds me of that saying: 'As poor as a church mouse'....
Why is a church mouse considered to be poor? Seems to me it has quite an affluent existence, in a mostly quiet (except on Sundays) dry place, with access to an abundance of alter flowers, wafer crumbs and drops of spilled wine. Seems to me, a church mouse would be partying day and night!
Still, mice are not a popular animal. Which by a huge leap of the imagination reminds me of a 'school boy howler':
Teacher: I want you to write an essay on the House of Lords.
School boy (writing industriously): In the H of L's the men are called Peers, because they peer about a lot. And they wear cornets on their heads and their robes are trimmed with vermin...
Which reminds me of a Dutch song:
I saw a mouse (warble).
Where?
There! There on the stair - right there... A little mouse with clogs on..
Well I declare!
Going clip-clippity clop, on the staair! Oh yeah..!"
Which puts me in mind of another Dutch song about 'Tulips in Amsterdam'. Which makes me think of Spring.........and buttercups and daisies...
........and that infernal snow!
Which makes me think of 'whiskers on kittens and bright woolen mittens....tra-la'!!
'And they're coming to take me away, ha-ha-hee-hee, to the funny farm, where life is beautiful all the time and I'll be happy to see those nice young men in their nice white coats and they're coming to take me awaaay heyhey!'
Did I mention that it was Sunday?
Jan 17, 2010
ADDLED!
OH...!
So now the 'ads' that miraculously appeared under the posting entitled 'OW!' (when I pressed that seemingly innocuous new dashboard button) and which prompted a new posting - have now disappeared from beneath 'OW!'(?) and nestled themselves snugly beneath 'BUTTON IT!'...?
As I understood it (before pressing the button), new 'ads' would appear on the sidebar and beneath EACH new posting(?)
Which probably means that since I am now in the process of typing out a new posting entitled 'ADDLED!' the 'ads' are now in the process of slowly fading (like the Cheshire Cat's Smile - ref: Alice in Wonderland/Lewis Carroll) from beneath 'BUTTON IT!', to reappear underneath this one...?
*Sigh*...I am in Computer Technology awe. Computer technology is my God. I feel like feeding my computer a carrot.
(I.E., ref. to The Coming Plague/Laurie Garrett - and an incident in which a Brazilian tribe, on seeing their first ever aeroplane (bringing medical Scientists) thought it was a mighty 'God' Bird and rushed out from the surrounding jungle to feed it roots - and don't say you (and me )would not have done the same in their place - because I am betting we would have - for sure! ).
Wait though, I have just had a thought (!) (*rusty grinding noise*)... Since 'ADDLED!' will be posted on the same day as 'BUTTON IT!' the ads will 'think' it's all one-and-the-same - and not move upwards (seems logical), if you get my drift?
Wonder if I am right.....? (finger now moving towards 'publish post')..... bated breath...
(*Groan*.... There must be a better way to spend a cold, wet, slushy Sunday?).
P.S.
HMMPH!! This is an 'edit'. I wasn't right...
So now the 'ads' that miraculously appeared under the posting entitled 'OW!' (when I pressed that seemingly innocuous new dashboard button) and which prompted a new posting - have now disappeared from beneath 'OW!'(?) and nestled themselves snugly beneath 'BUTTON IT!'...?
As I understood it (before pressing the button), new 'ads' would appear on the sidebar and beneath EACH new posting(?)
Which probably means that since I am now in the process of typing out a new posting entitled 'ADDLED!' the 'ads' are now in the process of slowly fading (like the Cheshire Cat's Smile - ref: Alice in Wonderland/Lewis Carroll) from beneath 'BUTTON IT!', to reappear underneath this one...?
*Sigh*...I am in Computer Technology awe. Computer technology is my God. I feel like feeding my computer a carrot.
(I.E., ref. to The Coming Plague/Laurie Garrett - and an incident in which a Brazilian tribe, on seeing their first ever aeroplane (bringing medical Scientists) thought it was a mighty 'God' Bird and rushed out from the surrounding jungle to feed it roots - and don't say you (and me )would not have done the same in their place - because I am betting we would have - for sure! ).
Wait though, I have just had a thought (!) (*rusty grinding noise*)... Since 'ADDLED!' will be posted on the same day as 'BUTTON IT!' the ads will 'think' it's all one-and-the-same - and not move upwards (seems logical), if you get my drift?
Wonder if I am right.....? (finger now moving towards 'publish post')..... bated breath...
(*Groan*.... There must be a better way to spend a cold, wet, slushy Sunday?).
P.S.
HMMPH!! This is an 'edit'. I wasn't right...
BUTTON IT!
Oo goody, what's this? A new blog button ...*press*...... What on earth....?
Hmm.... now that's in-ter-es-ting....
Have just found this (probably not) new (but have only just noticed it, duh) monetize button on the blog Dashboard - and not being able to resist pressing a button....
A host of ads have just appeared under my last posting (???)
Technology at its most instantaneous and wonderously confusing (to me).
Oh crikey - supposing I want to remove them? Where's the button for that?
(More searching)
Not found yet.... Okay, keep searching...
(Preparation: Count down from 100 (brain exercise). Fresh pot of tea and chocolate bar (brain food) broken into manageable pieces and placed within reaching distance; investigative (button pressing - what else did you think?!) finger, at the ready...).
Can't wait to see what ads appear under this post!!! Heh heh.
Hmm.... now that's in-ter-es-ting....
Have just found this (probably not) new (but have only just noticed it, duh) monetize button on the blog Dashboard - and not being able to resist pressing a button....
A host of ads have just appeared under my last posting (???)
Technology at its most instantaneous and wonderously confusing (to me).
Oh crikey - supposing I want to remove them? Where's the button for that?
(More searching)
Not found yet.... Okay, keep searching...
(Preparation: Count down from 100 (brain exercise). Fresh pot of tea and chocolate bar (brain food) broken into manageable pieces and placed within reaching distance; investigative (button pressing - what else did you think?!) finger, at the ready...).
Can't wait to see what ads appear under this post!!! Heh heh.
Jan 4, 2010
OW!!
Slipped on the icey pavement this morning, whilst putting out the wheelie bin and bumped my 'tail' bone. Smack ! (@*!!x#) - right on the end of the spine - ow-ow-ow!
There were only two other people about - an elderly couple, shuffling along and clinging desperately to each other, on the opposite side of the street. But the odd thing is, during and immediately after the fall, I behaved as though nothing had happened (?!), clambering as swiftly and nonchalantly to my feet as possible (with legs flailing all over the place) and ignoring the pain. What was that all about?
Am left wondering if my reaction would have been the same if the street had been deserted? Giving it some thought - the answer is, that I think so. I think the desire to be upright and apparently unhurt is/was some kind of survival instinct....(?)
Sort of like: 'Aargh! I've come a cropper in the snow-and am old and helpless-and if I don't get up at once the wolf pack will close in-and eat me! So let's see if the legs still work and if they do, let's get the h*ll out of here!
Well maybe there are no wolves in the middle of slippery, snowy suburban 'Den Haag' - well, not the animal kind anyway - so perhaps it had more to do with not wanting to look like an idiot (?!) Anyway, as I said, I uprighted myself (with the aid of a lamppost); placed the wheelie bin carefully at the curb; and baby-stepped slowly back into the warmth and safety of the Geri 'cave'.
Hmm... (wince). Feels like I'll be sitting on a cushion for a while - but apart from that, nothing a few hot cuppas won't cure.. Cheers (!)
And oh yeah - be careful out there!
There were only two other people about - an elderly couple, shuffling along and clinging desperately to each other, on the opposite side of the street. But the odd thing is, during and immediately after the fall, I behaved as though nothing had happened (?!), clambering as swiftly and nonchalantly to my feet as possible (with legs flailing all over the place) and ignoring the pain. What was that all about?
Am left wondering if my reaction would have been the same if the street had been deserted? Giving it some thought - the answer is, that I think so. I think the desire to be upright and apparently unhurt is/was some kind of survival instinct....(?)
Sort of like: 'Aargh! I've come a cropper in the snow-and am old and helpless-and if I don't get up at once the wolf pack will close in-and eat me! So let's see if the legs still work and if they do, let's get the h*ll out of here!
Well maybe there are no wolves in the middle of slippery, snowy suburban 'Den Haag' - well, not the animal kind anyway - so perhaps it had more to do with not wanting to look like an idiot (?!) Anyway, as I said, I uprighted myself (with the aid of a lamppost); placed the wheelie bin carefully at the curb; and baby-stepped slowly back into the warmth and safety of the Geri 'cave'.
Hmm... (wince). Feels like I'll be sitting on a cushion for a while - but apart from that, nothing a few hot cuppas won't cure.. Cheers (!)
And oh yeah - be careful out there!
Dec 30, 2009
BOOM-DIDDY-BOOM!
Dutch New Year celebrations started officially yesterday morning, with the legal sale of fireworks in Holland. Legally, they must not be let off before 10 a.m. on the 31st Dec.; but unrealistically, billions of bangers, rockets and other heart jumping noisy explosives, are now in the hands of millions of over-excited Dutch youth.
So, since I am not allowed to leap out, screeching bloodcurdlingly (and brandishing my broomstick) onto the backs of our local youth - and physically remove their fireworks from them when they let them off right under my windows (!) - that just leaves the following:
Check list:
Wheelie bins under cover.
Letter box sealed shut.
Last minute shopping done.
All windows closed.
Monitor the dog's pulse and respiration.
A friend's German Shepherd mix is staying with me, while her 'mam' holidays in Dubai - and she is cowering on top of my feet. She has been there for almost the last 24 hours and my feet are numb. Toasty, but numb.
This poor dog is my greatest concern; what with all the smoke and noise coming from the street she is a nervous wreck, so I have created an elaborate, 'escape' route, out of my scullery door (mine is the only residence on the ground floor - a sort of granny flat) and into a small enclosed back passage. Then out through another door into the main hall, past the lift and out through the electronic back doors onto a large cul-de-sac of grass and trees - and from there it is just a couple of minutes mad dash across the grass, around a corner, across a road and into a large wooded park, where an 'off lead' area for our four footed friends, offers sanctuary. Phew!
After a bit of a run, I will put her back on the lead and since the local New Year's bonfire is being built further up in the park, we will then proceed the opposite way, past monuments and duck filled ponds, towards an area of high prickly bushes - to relax and sniff at rabbit holes. (The dog, not me (!) I gave up rabbit hole sniffing years ago...). It seems to soothe the dog's nerves and the local rabbits are apparently used to us now, since they don't bolt anymore.
I just hope that these cute, seemingly unafraid bunnies - and the local tame ducks - have the sense to bolt and hide from the growing swarms of kids armed with thousands of 'bombs': i.e, bangers that get louder and more dangerous every year... *shudder*..
Because some of them really are like small bombs. Obtained illegally from Belgium and smuggled into the Neths. I saw two of them blow a couple of impressive holes in the tarmac outside a party in Amsterdam, a couple of years ago.
Happy New Year everyone - and be safe! And that goes for your pets and the local wild life too.
Cheers!!!
So, since I am not allowed to leap out, screeching bloodcurdlingly (and brandishing my broomstick) onto the backs of our local youth - and physically remove their fireworks from them when they let them off right under my windows (!) - that just leaves the following:
Check list:
Wheelie bins under cover.
Letter box sealed shut.
Last minute shopping done.
All windows closed.
Monitor the dog's pulse and respiration.
A friend's German Shepherd mix is staying with me, while her 'mam' holidays in Dubai - and she is cowering on top of my feet. She has been there for almost the last 24 hours and my feet are numb. Toasty, but numb.
This poor dog is my greatest concern; what with all the smoke and noise coming from the street she is a nervous wreck, so I have created an elaborate, 'escape' route, out of my scullery door (mine is the only residence on the ground floor - a sort of granny flat) and into a small enclosed back passage. Then out through another door into the main hall, past the lift and out through the electronic back doors onto a large cul-de-sac of grass and trees - and from there it is just a couple of minutes mad dash across the grass, around a corner, across a road and into a large wooded park, where an 'off lead' area for our four footed friends, offers sanctuary. Phew!
After a bit of a run, I will put her back on the lead and since the local New Year's bonfire is being built further up in the park, we will then proceed the opposite way, past monuments and duck filled ponds, towards an area of high prickly bushes - to relax and sniff at rabbit holes. (The dog, not me (!) I gave up rabbit hole sniffing years ago...). It seems to soothe the dog's nerves and the local rabbits are apparently used to us now, since they don't bolt anymore.
I just hope that these cute, seemingly unafraid bunnies - and the local tame ducks - have the sense to bolt and hide from the growing swarms of kids armed with thousands of 'bombs': i.e, bangers that get louder and more dangerous every year... *shudder*..
Because some of them really are like small bombs. Obtained illegally from Belgium and smuggled into the Neths. I saw two of them blow a couple of impressive holes in the tarmac outside a party in Amsterdam, a couple of years ago.
Happy New Year everyone - and be safe! And that goes for your pets and the local wild life too.
Cheers!!!
Dec 5, 2009
HO! HO! HO! NOW ALREADY?
Its that day of the year again in The Netherlands. Santa Claus is coming – or as the Dutch call him; 'Sintaklaas'.
Yes, that’s right, in Holland, Hollanda, Pays Bas, The Neths., little and grown up kids everywhere, are paid a visit by St. Nikolaas the 'good holy man', sometime during the evening of December 5th. – which also happens to be ‘the Sints’ birthday.
Bishop Nicholas of Myra, Turkey, as he originally was - except that little Dutch children are told that he now lives in Spain - travels to Holland every year towards the end of November in his steamboat; accompanied by his piebald horse 'Amerigo' and a bevy of 'Zwarte Pieten' or Moorish helpers. (Except, I have had this nagging suspicion - ever since seeing black make up on the Chief Piet's ruff (aha!) - that they are not real Moores, but rather a large group of Dutch chappies, with their faces painted black and dressed in brightly coloured silk knickerbockers and jackets, with black hose and a jaunty feather in their hats). But whoever they are, these Pieten will then dance through the streets of Holland and into the shops, throwing handfuls of sweets and pepernoten - pepper nuts - at throngs of delighted, excited children.
In the lead up to Dec. 5th. - the kids may periodically place one of their shoes on the window ledge of their bedrooms, or by the fireplace if they have one, complete with a carrot for Amerigo - and one of the Pieten will ..er.. break into the house, take the carrot and leave a small token gift in the shoe.
But December the 5th. is the really Big Day (!) - and I have been invited to share in this one, at my youngest daughter’s house this evening, where we will wait for that loud knocking on the windows and ringing on the doorbell, that will announce that Sint and his Pieten have galloped by and left a huge box of presents outside the front door..!!
Except that Grandma will not be in the room, because she will have left just a minute before to ‘spend a penny’ (darn this old bladder!) and after carrying what will seem like a whole toyshop, on tiptoe, out of the shed and placing it by the front door and banging on the windows and ringing the bell, will have just made it back into the downstairs toilet - a split second before…
‘Presents! Presents!’ The kiddies will burst from the sitting room into the hall, eyes and mouths wide and almost wetting their own pants with excitement…!
‘Oh, how wonderful!’ Mama will chant, opening the front door to a ton of brightly wrapped packages.
‘Yaaay!’ Grandma will manage, feebly, hobbling after them and wincing at pulled muscles.
‘You forgot to throw the pepper nuts around,’ Mama will hiss.
‘Oh h*ll’, I'll mutter, reaching into the hall cupboard and belatedly and surreptitiously chucking handfuls of the things, into the box of toys and all over the front door step.
And when the gifts are gathered in, we’ll sit by a roaring log fire with a glass of something deep red and delicious or brown and fizzy and devour plates of ‘lekker’s: i.e., tasty nibbles on sticks and chocolates and crisps etc.. and dole out the presents and count our blessings and try and build up some energy for December the 25th…and Christmas Eve, when the 'Kerstman' or rather, Father Christmas/Santa Claus (?) will be coming to Holland from Lapland (?)with his little elf helpers and dropping down the chimney and leaving a bunch of presents under the tree.. and oh yes, this fat, jolly, ho-ho-ho-ing (Coca-cola) fellow is a completely different chap to Bishop St. Nicholas of December 5th…. (er, isn't he....?)
Confused? You me both and every kid and adult in the Neths.! But who cares? Better to just go with the flow…. it’s expensive … but after all, isn't that what the next 11 months are for? To save up...?
Ho-Ho-Ho! Merry December 5th.!!!!
Yes, that’s right, in Holland, Hollanda, Pays Bas, The Neths., little and grown up kids everywhere, are paid a visit by St. Nikolaas the 'good holy man', sometime during the evening of December 5th. – which also happens to be ‘the Sints’ birthday.
Bishop Nicholas of Myra, Turkey, as he originally was - except that little Dutch children are told that he now lives in Spain - travels to Holland every year towards the end of November in his steamboat; accompanied by his piebald horse 'Amerigo' and a bevy of 'Zwarte Pieten' or Moorish helpers. (Except, I have had this nagging suspicion - ever since seeing black make up on the Chief Piet's ruff (aha!) - that they are not real Moores, but rather a large group of Dutch chappies, with their faces painted black and dressed in brightly coloured silk knickerbockers and jackets, with black hose and a jaunty feather in their hats). But whoever they are, these Pieten will then dance through the streets of Holland and into the shops, throwing handfuls of sweets and pepernoten - pepper nuts - at throngs of delighted, excited children.
In the lead up to Dec. 5th. - the kids may periodically place one of their shoes on the window ledge of their bedrooms, or by the fireplace if they have one, complete with a carrot for Amerigo - and one of the Pieten will ..er.. break into the house, take the carrot and leave a small token gift in the shoe.
But December the 5th. is the really Big Day (!) - and I have been invited to share in this one, at my youngest daughter’s house this evening, where we will wait for that loud knocking on the windows and ringing on the doorbell, that will announce that Sint and his Pieten have galloped by and left a huge box of presents outside the front door..!!
Except that Grandma will not be in the room, because she will have left just a minute before to ‘spend a penny’ (darn this old bladder!) and after carrying what will seem like a whole toyshop, on tiptoe, out of the shed and placing it by the front door and banging on the windows and ringing the bell, will have just made it back into the downstairs toilet - a split second before…
‘Presents! Presents!’ The kiddies will burst from the sitting room into the hall, eyes and mouths wide and almost wetting their own pants with excitement…!
‘Oh, how wonderful!’ Mama will chant, opening the front door to a ton of brightly wrapped packages.
‘Yaaay!’ Grandma will manage, feebly, hobbling after them and wincing at pulled muscles.
‘You forgot to throw the pepper nuts around,’ Mama will hiss.
‘Oh h*ll’, I'll mutter, reaching into the hall cupboard and belatedly and surreptitiously chucking handfuls of the things, into the box of toys and all over the front door step.
And when the gifts are gathered in, we’ll sit by a roaring log fire with a glass of something deep red and delicious or brown and fizzy and devour plates of ‘lekker’s: i.e., tasty nibbles on sticks and chocolates and crisps etc.. and dole out the presents and count our blessings and try and build up some energy for December the 25th…and Christmas Eve, when the 'Kerstman' or rather, Father Christmas/Santa Claus (?) will be coming to Holland from Lapland (?)with his little elf helpers and dropping down the chimney and leaving a bunch of presents under the tree.. and oh yes, this fat, jolly, ho-ho-ho-ing (Coca-cola) fellow is a completely different chap to Bishop St. Nicholas of December 5th…. (er, isn't he....?)
Confused? You me both and every kid and adult in the Neths.! But who cares? Better to just go with the flow…. it’s expensive … but after all, isn't that what the next 11 months are for? To save up...?
Ho-Ho-Ho! Merry December 5th.!!!!
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