It was a national holiday here today, but not for us. Mr.Jo gave me a list of things to be done before Thursday which had all of us scuttling about for most of the day.

One of the things was to clear out our bedroom. At first, The Father and I were going to camp out in The Girl’s room, under my old canopy bed. But for some reason, I just didn’t want to go there, and so, our mattress sits on the floor here, in my room-of-my-own. We haven’t slept on this side of the house for awhile. It is much more peaceful here, no trucks dashing by at 5 in the morning. But, as The Father pointed out, the birds make one hell of a noise and the bells…

But I rather enjoy sleeping on a mattress on the floor again, and it is very cool in the room.

I am sick unto the bone of this rebuilding.

Today is my mother’s birthday.

She would have been 68.

Today I also went to see Oma for the first time, after her surgery. There is a sort of rotation list set up, so that there is always someone to see her during visiting hours there, at the intensive care.

She was glad to see me. She likes me. She would have liked more from me, but I’m a pretty keep-them-at-a-distance sort of person. It is enough that I have kept her son content and have been here for her grandchildren, I suppose.

Via an evil alignment of stars, tomorrow have my niece ( 4) and my nephew ( 6) here all day . I also have Mr. Jo, Mr. Jan and Mr. Henk here. I pray for fair weather.

I noticed, when we visited Oma, that one thing truly distressed her : that when she had visitors, she had nothing to offer them. Tomorrow, the 5 children and I shall buy a kist for visitors, a chest filled with sweets for visitors, for Oma.

It should pass the time.

The Boy with Elvis,The Baby, The Girl with Buddy.

Week 1 here.

This Sunday is Mike’s 8th birthday. Being the fey creature that he is, seemingly experiencing things more intensely than mere mortals, Mike has been bouncing off of the walls in anticipation of the big day for weeks. Even his teacher commented upon it : It could be the excitement of his birthday coming up, she said to me as we discussed Mike’s recent behavior in school.

We usually do the standard, simple birthday bit, hang balloons on the meat hook hanging from the living room ceiling, buy a cake in the shape of the appropriate number, have Oma and Opa over for a few hours, sing ‘Happy Birthday’ and open presents.

Obviously, this Sunday will not be as festive as the standard birthday usually is here : there is no way Oma and Opa will be here, adding the special charm of their presence.

I spoke to Han about it, the other day : ‘You do realize’, I said , ‘that no one will be here for Mike’s birthday, don’t you ? ‘.

And then I remembered something : a week or so ago, the company received 2 free, V.I.P. tickets to a football game from their bank, who happens to sponsor a football team. Once a year, the bank passes out these free tickets to their clients rather in the spirit of passing out calenders and pens with their logo stamped all over it.

The businessmen who receive these tickets then all gather at around 4 in the afternoon and board a luxury bus ( which includes one member of the bank’s football team ) and take off to the stadium. There, they go to the V.I.P lounge and drink champagne and eat salmon ( and probably eels as well) until the game begins. You get the idea, a nice gift that the bank passes out, to say ‘ Thank you for being such a good client’.

I’m supposing that you have guessed the finer details of this bit of Deux ex Machina : the game is indeed the day before Mike’s birthday, the bank is the ABN/Amro, the football team, Ajax.

Mike is going with Han to the Arena in Amsterdam to see Ajax play and is thrilled.

Hi Dad-

well, The Father’s mother made it through the surgery very well. She is still in intensive care, but The Father says that she is sitting up and talking a mile a minute. Apparently, though, the tumor was indeed cancer. Tomorrow they will be talking with the doctors some more.

More later-

Mummy Dearest

The other day, Lynn left this comment :

sir paul? lucky you! neil young? even luckier! i’m always tempted, but the thought of huge venues and gigantic crowds restrains me at the last moment…(paradiso is about my speed. and norah jones was a treat.)

I meant to write a reply that day, but, well, I am the walking embodiment of the expression ” The road to hell…”

Thanks to this site, The Father and I have started going to concerts again, catching ‘Legends of Rock and Roll’, so to say. We have taken The Boy to see the Eagles, Dylan, and now the double line-up of McCartney / Young. What’s next ? Well. The Fatherrather fancies seeing Gabriel, should he ever go on tour again.

So, after I read Lynn’s comment, I went off to take my bath, and as I sat in the water, I thought about how to answer her. You know, I don’t like big crowds either, I’ve grown unaccustomed to being part of a hoard, but I’ve just had a wonderful time at each of these concerts.

The reason is actually quite simple. You see, when you go to see a ‘Legend of Rock and Roll’, the crowd is made up ( for the most part ) of fellow baby-boomers. One finds oneself sitting amidst 25,000 rather grandparent-y looking men and women wearing blue jeans , awaiting a flash from their past.

The days when going to a concert meant that someone in your near proximity would barf all over your new Frye boots are gone.

No puppy pic today as it is pouring rain here.

I’m slowly catching on to the fact that this is not turning out to be the best of years for us. We seem to be hitting one dip after another, I’ve just been a bit slow to catch on.

The Father and I are pretty sure that Buddy has some serious problems with his hips : yes, the dreaded HD.

It was rather one of those Sherlock Holmes moments, suddenly, last week when I was taking the dogs for a walk, I realized that the most obvious answer to why Buddy didn’t like to go for a walk was that it hurt. Once we considered the HD possibility, a pain factor, everything about Buddy’s behavior clicked so neatly into place that I’m left wondering why something so obvious took me so long to realize.

I suppose if he had displayed that rather spastic gait of a dog with severe HD, it would have occurred to me right away, but he walks normally. He just doesn’t like to walk. I don’t think that I have ever seen him run and he certainly sits whenever he has a chance- even when he is eating. And now he is fat as a hog.

Oh shit , shit, shit, shit.

This week he goes back to the vet. Whatever he has, I’m hoping that it can be corrected.

Today, after watching The Boy’s football team keep up their fine tradition by losing, yet again, The Father and The Boy stopped over by his parent’s house, to see how they were doing.

In preparation for her surgery on Monday morning, Oma checks into the hospital tomorrow afternoon, and so the atmosphere at their home was a bit glum. To provide a diversion, get their minds off of things, The Father invited them to come over to our place tonight and play a few hours of cards.

Of course, one side of me is saying ‘I’m tired. I simply want to sit in my comfy chair tonight, watch the tape of ER that the babysitter made for us’. But I know that I will have a nice time. I like playing cards.

A while back I confessed that I play a mean hand of Whist. But we won’t be playing that tonight, we’ll be playing another game, one that his parents prefer to play. I’m rather good at that one as well.

Yes, I play a fine game of Canasta.

I think I’m about ready to be sent to a retirement home in south Florida.

Every now and then, I am struck with an ‘oh, let’s do something different, something new, something gay’ mood, get out of our day to day rut, live adventurously mood.

With the help of my little computer – the same one that stands before me now- I then proceed to set up something different, something new, something gay for us to do in , say, about 6 months time.

But as the adventurous day draws near, I begin to question my sanity. What was I thinking ? I don’t want to go anywhere. I’m tired. I simply want to sit in my comfy chair and watch ER. I must have been drunk.

So went yesterday. I was in a mood most foul, as though that evening I would be attending a public execution, one in which I had the starring role. I don’t like Paul McCartney all that much. The Father is his biggest fan, not me. Two and a half hours of ‘Wings’. I’m tired. I would rather sit in my comfy chair and watch ER.

And as predictable as my foul mood is, so is the fact that I always have a wonderful time. The first 45 minutes of the concert, well, a little too much ‘Wings’ and solo stuff was played, but then, I began to melt. After all, I grew up with the Beatles. I watched their cartoon show, their early films, I cried, was shocked, stunned, when they split up. And there I sat, listening to a real live Beatle, who sang no less then 20 of those old tunes.

It was wonderful. Somewhere, deep inside of me, a 10 year old girl was amazed to be sitting in the same concert hall as Paul McCartney. A real, live Beatle.

And next month, I can moan and groan over having bought tickets to a Neal Young concert. ( I must have been drunk).

I’m over there again.