I do believe that I might be sick- a cold, no drama involved. Or I may have simply wrenched every muscle in my body today while mucking out the yard.

Could be. Then the allergies acting up- how does one decide if one has a cold or not ? Either way, I feel like shit.

However, The Baby and The Boy being a bit under the weather does provide a vital clue, a helpful hint. Yes, I might indeed be sick.

And as I rarely get sick ( or at least not that I am aware of it), I plan on wallowing in it, saying oh, poor me ! every chance that I can.

Catch you later, when I arise from my death bed, wan but bravely cheerful, no doubt.

Last night, as I waited – with baited breath, of course- for The Father to come back from that conference with the teachers, I watched bits and pieces of that Foster film, Contact.

I didn’t catch the end, but having seen the film once before, I recalled that it was rather, oh, insipid.

Or not. I don’t really recall. It made no lasting impression upon me.

In any case, during the film, the guy asks her this : How can you live in a world without a God ?

My Mother asked that of me once. She really and truly did not understand how I could go from day to day without the idea of a God in the background of my mind, of my life.

As I watched the film, I found myself wondering what it is like, to live a life which contains a deity.

I do suppose, that at times, I can be envious of that world.

In the midst of all of this sturm und drang, the one remaining remarkably sensible is The Girl. Our inclination was to send her to a very Protestant school which coddles students, but she has found a number of schools in The Big City which offer an extra bit of time, Bridges , to deal with any scholastic problems.

I’ve always felt that she would enjoy life in The Big City, she is a rather cynical sort of girl- get her out of the boonies, off of the farm.

But one thing that we all- The Father, The Girl and I and her teachers agree upon is get her very, very far away from anyone at her present school.

Oh, and me ? I appreciate the comments that have been made. Whatever she is, whatever her capabilities might be, she would most likely slash her throat if her fate was now determined : that she would work in a bakery for the rest of her years, selling buns and loaves of bread with a smile.

At the age of about 12, Dutch children go through a sort of educational triage. In America, that seems to happen when one is 18. You know, get the adolescence shit a bit out of the way.

I’ve always found the Dutch way a bit, well, brutal. F*cking brutal.

Tonight The Father met up with The Girl’s teacher and the head master of her school and heard their judgment upon what sort of school The Girl should go to next.

I don’t suppose that it will surprise anyone if I tell you that we disagreed with the professionals, thought that our daughter could do a bit better than going to a school that would teach her how to use a cash register.

Having children can be brutal at times.

While they didn’t come right out and say it, it seems that the little school down the street finds The Girl to be a bit of a pin head.

Oh, wait, no, I’ve got that wrong.

She would just be happier roving through the streets, spear in hand, looking for rogue garbage.

Right. Got that.

A song for a Mummy Dearest Evening.

Lately, the members of this household have added a new facet to our morning farewell scene ( is such sweet sorrow). Before the kiss and the have a nice day ( I kid you not), I am handed a brace of errands to do for each and every one of them.

I truly begin to feel like a walking memo pad. And find myself becoming strapped for time.

Why, I have emails to write, a meme to do, cds to burn… important things.

Talking with Dad tonight on the phone, I have made my first contribution to The Road Trip From Hell : I want to go to Mt. Pleasant, Ohio. We are going to be in Ohio anyway, coming out of Pittsburgh and so, Mummy wants to go in search of her Roots. And- of course- going to Mt. Pleasant will be highly educational for the children.

Remember last summer ? We actually sat down with them and watched every episode of Roots together. It is a part of American History- perhaps even of World History- that I wanted them to know about, and the series seemed to be the perfect way to introduce them to the topic. Now, Mt. Pleasant was one of the first stops on the Underground Railroad, just across the river from Virginia, which was a slave state. Ohio was not.

And- I have to confess- it seems that we are direct descendants of the guy who founded the town ( I must also add that at first, they wanted to call the town something like Jesse-Bob Town. So much for the couth level ). Maybe not, I’ll know in a week or so. Not like it’s the Big Apple or anything, but certainly stuns the sh*t out of a person who thought that she was third generation American all around. You know, Mummy speaks Polish.

Dad didn’t seem to mind. In fact, most of the trip is going to be visiting the places and people that he knew as a child with many side trips being made to search for lost ghosts.

And The Father won’t mind- he just wants to drive, drive, drive across America.

But I have promised Daddy that this year I will make sure that our dutch Kerouac brings his driver’s license with him.

Not like the last two summers in the States.

Oh ! Watch Mummy live in fear, stretching her neck to catch a glimpse of a State Trooper waiting to slap The Father in jail .

Oh me, oh my.

Today The Babywas invited to go and play at Duarte’s house. She has always been fond of the boy and had a very nice time indeed. Now, despite the fact that both of Duarte’s parents are as Dutch as drop, that Duarte lives just down the street from us, Meg has always insisted that Duarte lives in Portugal.

Now, having been to various countries in her short life- including Italy, France and America, The Baby has a general idea of how the world is set up. She knows that she lives in our town, which in turn is in The Netherlands. She knows that Alabama is a part of America. But no matter how many times we explain to her that Duarte simply cannot- the daily commute alone would kill him- live in Portugal, she insists that he does indeed live in Portugal.

Today at dinner, she told The Father that she went to play with Duarte today. He lives very close to her friends Roos and Sara, not far from the butcher. He lives at a number 5 as well, she told us. She then – as an aside- told The Father that Duarte lives in Portugal.

Lowering his fork, The Father explained to The Baby that if Duarte did indeed live in Portugal, she would have to take a plane to visit him.

And she – very earnestly- explained to him that Portugal wasn’t that far at all. Why, she didn’t need to take a plane to go to Duarte’s.

They walked there.

Perhaps being in Portugal is a state of mind. What do I know.

Despite the plethora of For Rent signs slapped upon empty offices, we can’t seem to find a place to house the new company- there is no land ( of a proportionate size) to buy, no one wants to sell their empty rentals and so I am now looking for an old villa or farm which is zoned for business. We have a fair budget, not quite of the if you have to ask class, but still, a healthy amount.

Yup, as well as squeezing photos, I’m now in search of real estate.

Anyone know of an old villa or farm, zoned for business, within 20 kms of the Big City or Waalwijk ?

So, I’ve ripped the tracks, but now I have to put them in order. In some sort of order.

The theme for this CD is covers. In case there is actually one other person on this planet who has no clue as to what a cover is, it seems that it is simply a remake of some tune.

I think.

So, I had to get an original version and a cover of the same song. But how should I burn the disc ? Should I shuffle the songs all together or simply line them up, two by two ?

Uh, I would really appreciate any thoughts on this.

Today I finished ripping tracks for a CD exchange over at The Lounge.

Don’t you wish you were getting a CD compiled by my precious little hands ?

Isn’t your arm just aching to throw a wee, silver frisbee out of the nearest window ?