I don’t go to The Boy’s football games anymore. It wasn’t that I stomped my foot down on the floor and said ‘ Never again !’, it just has sort of worked out that way.

The Father has really come to enjoy going to The Boy’s games. He really wants to go. In fact, doesn’t want to miss a single match. He has a great time, standing on the sidelines, joking around with GP and the other fathers there. He has even become the assistant coach. And he tells me that I really should come and watch The Boy play one Saturday- I just won’t recognize the way that he plays anymore.

What has happened to the team which I once suggested would be a good subject for a Disney film, the team that hadn’t won one game in 2 years ? Well, it seems that it all came to a climax about 6 weeks ago, when our goalie made three goals. In his own goal. The game was lost 16-0 and a reorganization swept through the team. Among other things, a new goalie was placed in the goal. One of the more gung-ho type fathers took over the coaching, and oddly enough, The Father joined him.

Now, when I went to The Boy’s games and watched them loose, game after game after game, I would tousle The Boy’s hair after the latest defeat and say something inane like , ‘ Well, the important thing is that you enjoy playing’. I suspect that The Father reacted differently to The Boy’s playing style, actually said something useful to the boy, something pertinent, for you see, not only has The Bop been moved from the mid-field to playing the spitz ( forward), but it seems that he is now the star of the team.

My son ? The same little boy who once refused to train if he couldn’t wear a yellow singlet, rather than the red one ?

The Father confesses that he enjoys- indeed rather revels- in hearing people complement him upon his son’s playing.

Oh, and since the grand sweep of the team, they have won more games than they have lost. They won again today, 2-0. The Boy scored the first goal and then supplied the pass ( the kids are actually passing the ball ?- things have changed since my days on the field) which enabled the second goal.

Miracles do still happen.

The results of the KNVB poll about who was the man of the Scotland- Netherlands match are here.

Since our Chinese guest was here I have been looking forward to today. You see, in the tit-for-tat world of a family run business, loosing two weekends in a row because of work gives one tons of ‘points’. The Father made enough points to enable him to take yesterday and today off. Sort of.

Once I heard that he was taking a Friday off, I planned to go to the big city on that day, for you see, on Fridays- and only on Fridays- there is a fishmonger there who sells clams, the only clams that I have ever seen up for sale in our part of the woods.

For a short while, it looked like my plan would fall through, but things worked out fine and I returned from my day in the big city with 4 pounds of clams ( sold as vongole at the fishmonger’s).

Plans at the moment include pasta with clams * for dinner tomorrow night- loosely based on this recipe- and a clam chowder ** for Tuesday, for I am working on making Tuesdays ‘soup days’, because of all the activities the kids have on Tuesday.

With all of the computer problems that I have been having ( oh, woe is me), I’ve lost a lot of the links to recipes that I like. I’m vaguely considering putting them up, not because they are so great, but because we like them.

Another rather morbid reason is that when my mother dropped dead, quiet unexpectedly at the age of 48, she took all of our recipes for family favorites with her. My kind, wicked- step-mother has spent a lot of time and effort and has managed to recreate some of them for us, but I haven’t had ‘city chicken’ ( a mixture of breaded pork and beef cubes on a skewer evolving out of some Polish corner of the family) for over 20 years.

We shall see.

*
LINGUINE WHITE CLAM SAUCE

1 lb. linguine pasta
2 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 c. chopped parsley
1 tsp. basil
2 tbsp. olive oil
2 cans chopped clams, drain (save juice)
1/4 c. white wine, dry

Cook linguine as directed. Heat oil and garlic. Stir in clam juice and parsley. Cook and stir for 3 minutes. Add clams, wine, and basil. Simmer for only 5 minutes. Then toss sauce with hot linguine. If you like clams, its great.

**
NEW ENGLAND CLAM CHOWDER
When returning the chopped clams to the pot, try not to heat them for too long, or they will toughen up.
6 pounds cherrystone clams
3 medium-sized onions, each coarsely chopped but kept separate
1 rib of celery (with leaves), cut into 2-inch pieces
1 carrot, peeled and halved
2 bay leaves
3 sprigs fresh thyme plus
1 tablespoon chopped fresh thyme
2 cups water
1/2 cup clam juice
1/2 pound slab bacon, cut into 1/4-inch dice
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
8 small white new potatoes, cut into 1/4-inch dice
2 cups heavy cream
Freshly ground black pepper, to taste
2 tablespoons chopped flat-leaf parsley
Oyster crackers (optional), for serving

1. Wash the clams well in cold water and put into a heavy soup pot. Add 1 chopped onion, the celery, carrot, 1 bay leaf, and the thyme sprigs.

2. Add water and clam juice. Cover the pot and bring to a boil over high heat. Cook until the clams open, shaking the pot occasionally. Remove clams from their shells, pouring any remaining broth back into the pot. Cover the clams and set aside. Strain the broth through a fine sieve and set aside.

3. Add the bacon to the pot and cook over low heat until the fat is rendered and the bacon is slightly crisp, about 10 minutes. Add the remaining chopped onions, the remaining bay leaf, chopped thyme, and butter. Cook for 15 minutes, stirring, to wilt the onions. Add the potatoes and the strained broth. Simmer, partially covered, over medium heat for 12 to 15 minutes or until the potatoes are cooked through. Skim any foam that rises to the surface.

4. Meanwhile, coarsely chop the reserved clams. Add them to the pot along with the cream; simmer over medium heat for 5 to 7 minutes or until the clams are just cooked through. Do not overcook.

5. Season generously with pepper and stir in the parsley. Serve in mugs with oyster crackers, if desired.

Just about everyone and their brother. This morning- just as I was gathering up the coats for the children- The Girl came charging into the kitchen in a huff. ‘Some man’, she fumed, ‘is smacking at our front windows’. Looking into the living room, I told her that that man was the window washer, calm down.

A few minutes after I returned home from taking the kids to school, Mr.Jo appeared. Yes, he has returned to finish off the last bit of the house. I don’t even know what to call this last bit, perhaps ‘ The Grape Arbor Which Ate New York’.

It started out simply enough : I wanted a grape/ rose arbor like the ones in Italy. And then it began to grow : if we screen it in, the dogs can go there in the summer and be protected from the flies. And grow : if we put a roof on it, they won’t get wet and we can sit there. And grew : if we have windows that we can pop in and out, it won’t be too cold in the winter.

I have no idea what this thing will look like when it is done. Mr.Jo assures me that it will be lovely.

That alone makes me apprehensive.

mr.jo and the-grape-arbor-which-ate-new-york. note the ladder going up to the third floor : the window washer. it was very busy here at coffee time ( 10am, edwin).

Having announced to The Father that I was going to go and take a picture of Mr.Jo and the thing( a Day 1 sort of thing), he wistfully asked me ‘ Aren’t you going to take my picture as well ?”

The Father and the wall next to the fireplace-which-we-burn-all-winter-long.

Oh, and how could I forget ? The computer guy came ( the one-in-the-know-about-networks) and the wireless is running flawlessly.

So far.

Yes, I did my marital duty: I watched most of the game with The Father. I knew when to cheer, could give the standard commentary about the Dutch National team- which is always that they need an American coach. Someone who will say : we are going to go in there and win, we shall never surrender, we shall fight until the last half…the last ten minutes…the last second.

Whatever.

Is has been a very long time indeed since I have watched a match. My comments were largely along the lines of : ‘ My, he looks like an American, doesn’t he ? Or, : ” My, he rather resembles Lee Harvey Oswald, doesn’t he ? ( no link).

Otherwise, it was simply catching up with gossip : oh, there’s Smiley ! ( one of the De Boers), is Overmars still playing ?

Eh, no fun for The Father to watch a match like this alone and oddly enough, every-time I went to the kitchen, we scored.

( Mummy Dearest, go make make your coffee. Or something.)

Apparently, there are two companies looking to buy up the family company, which is run by The Father and his siblings. A number of months ago, they were approached by some sort of middle-man-type organization, who said that they represented an ‘unnamed company’ looking to buy out the family, take over the golden goose that feeds us and keeps us in pampers. The Father’s feeling ? Hey, make me an offer that I can’t refuse.

He met up with the middle-men once again the other day, who now say that two companies are interested in buying us out. Both sides ( ‘us’ and ‘them’) put a few cards on the table and that is where things stand.

The Father ( representing ‘us’) basically told them that for the right amount of money, they could buy out everything- the building, the land, the stock, the whole shebang except for one small branch of the company, which would remain in family hands. It sells a different product to a different sector of the market.

I actually suspect that he would love to sell it all and start over again, putting all of his efforts into the new line which he has been developing for years and which they have just started producing recently. A smaller building, more offices, less staff, minimal stock. And I know that he wants me to be a part of it, for that is how we started : back in the days before children, financed by his Dad, The Father and I started the company. As the work load increased, his siblings joined the company and to keep family harmony ( based upon experiences The Fathers father had growing up within a family company), I was not allowed to officially be a part of the company. I received all of the credit due me but no official status. That still rankles The Father, although I left that all behind me a long time ago.

Years have passed since those rather traumatic days, spouses now work for the company as well and The Father would like me to re-enter the fold again. I know why- he misses those long and boozy evenings during which we would brainstorm about the company, talk about clients, talk about trade regulations. Truth be told, I would probably like it as well, but only if I’m ‘official’. I admit, the events of the past did hurt my feelings, rather deeply.

But – in fact- today I started up again, easing my way back into the company. A few hours of research. While I am enjoying my solitude for the moment, I know the time will come when I feel like the brain dead serf who tidies up after the master and his family.

Time to join the land of the living once again.

( While driving to the big Albert Hein in the big city)

The afther : And tomorrow football is on.

( long pause)

The Father: You are going to watch it with me.

( short pause)

The Father: Aren’t you ?

Mummy Dearest: I guess that I am, aren’t I ?

And take a wild guess, come on, go ahead : what little cookie couldn’t connect all day, thank you , home.nl ?

The Boy’s problems weigh upon my heart.

And there I was, all glad to be old and wise, the years of sturm and drang behind me.

Blogrolling.com seems to be very sick at the moment. Guess I’ll have to type those links in myself.

Soon…