I hesitated to mention it, but the time seemed sortof right. Or perhaps I was simply in that mode that shuts-ins enter: after so many days, the absence of chatting with an equal leaves me babbling non- stop. Even as I brought it up, I felt the timing was not…peak. A bit premature.

Once this is all rolling along, going well, I wondered, could we like share the profit, set up scholarships for the children of the employees?

Yes, he said, I have already been thinking about that.

I know and appreciate that I was born under a lucky star, that I am blessed.

It is so nice having The Fatherhome, not just in the same country, but actually here, day after day. He has done so much during these past few days, things that bore me to tears : like cleaning the front of the kitchen cabinets and the upstairs bathroom. Things that have been on The Agenda for- simply- ever : getting one of the beds out of The Babys room and setting up an ell shaped bunk bed arrangement in The Boy’s room, going into town and ordering curtains for the front room, arranging to have the satellite dish guy come tomorrow and straighten that sucker out….

This morning there was finally time for him to bring me up to date on The Business, folder after folder and a few dvd’s to explain the manufacturing process to me, a pile of papers for me to read, just exchanging ideas about things, running upstairs and mailing a copy of Molly’s letter about company certificate’s to his computer downstairs. It was nice, brought back the good, gone times when he and I gabbed away until late in the evening, back when I knew every detail of the business and helped form the ideas which guided it.

It was nice when I could make a suggestion – which I myself thought was a bit premature to make- and find that the idea had already crossed his mind as well.

I have material up in the dryer, ready to be turned into curtains for The Boy’s room and I am lobbying for the restoration of The Baby’s new bed. I research filters for the new tank and simply wallow in the fact that The Father is here, all day long, for days on end.

And when he goes back on the war path once more, Mr.Jo arrives, to build me a fish tank, to fix a leaky shower and ( little does he know it) help me to find a place to blast and paint that fool bed.

Yes, I am getting curtains, at last.

Santa gave The Girl an MP3 player, cute as a button, rest assured. In fact, so cute, that Mummy Dearest is thinking… but only thinking. Santa’s helper had mentioned MP3 players a while back to The Girl, how it seemed that every boy at her school had one. The Girl ‘s reaction was luke warm , at best.

Oddly enough, The Girl seems to really like the little cutie, seems that this might be one of those symbols of being older. Well, if Santa had known that The Girl’s eyes would sparkle so much, and if Santa knew a bit more about audio files ( instead of knowing tons about video files), Santa would have gotten her a bit more memory.

But for now, this is one cute little sucker.

Nope. Santa isn’t going to give a 12 year year old anything Apple makes. Too pricey.

Santa also gave The Girl a gift certificate to her favorite junk jewelry store ( six), the new Harry Potter book ( whichever new one just came out in dutch), a DVD of ( oh, take a moment and guess, make a wild stab in the dark..) The Horse Whisperer . Bennie ( you know, The Horse) received a few thoughtful gifts as well. And then the fillers that always pad things out: gel pens, chocolate letters, items of that sort.

Unlike her siblings, The Girlactually does get the cash in her hands sent from her american grandparents.

My guess is that the loot will buy horsey doo- dads.

In the end, I felt Santa really didn’t know what to get The Girl, and spent a great deal of time trying to think of things that she might like.

It is like that every year : one kid is easy as pie, and one just really a mind bender.

But The Girl – except for small corner of her heart which is jealous of her Italian cousin- had a fine evening and is pleased.

Already looking forward to next Christmas, in fact.

Santa was very good to me this year. I now have a simply adorable garden gnome of my own ( tuin kabouter). I also received an ox and a donkey for the … the…kerst stal ? The manger thing that we have, with all of these one legged animals . And two Kings- psst- there are only two kings.

I also received a very saucy- are you ready for this ? : apron. Thank you, The Girl.

And the most beautiful bracelet that you can imagine, from India. I.Love.It. I think that it is almost as lovely as that necklace I received a few years ago. It glitters on my wrist.

I should like to share it, but lately I am thinking that fine jewelery and precious gems are best displayed upon young women. Not trashing my group, but I no longer desire a large diamond to place upon my gnarled fingers, to show a fortune draped about my wattled neck. The bracelet that Santa gave me is beautiful beyond words, I look at it and adore it. But a photo of it ? On my hand and wrist buckled with veins- I do not display it well.

Think : Wallis.

But jeepers, creepers, it is one pretty sucker and drips like golden velvet across my wrist.

Thank you, Santa.

A few minutes before 7, as I sat on the floor in my little room of my own, wrapping gifts, a fancy caught my mind. The Girl, I asked, sticking my head out of the door, do you want to go up on the dikes and watch the optocht? Can we take one of the dogs, she asks ? We can take both, if you hold them so I can try to take a picture of the optocht. Within minutes we had on our walk the stinky dogs clothes and sturdy wellies. I got mine, she had to wear The Father’s : her feet are bigger than mine.

It was very dark, and a fine, cold rain shimmered down upon us. Once up on the dikes, we noticed the mists surrounding town. Between the mist, a slow- no flash- shutter speed, and the tremor which comes and goes in my hands, I doubted we would get any photo worth keeping, and yet we were both very excited : it seemed that we would see a fine sight indeed this evening.

The children from The Boy and The Baby’s school were all in the next village, at the church there, each class giving some sort of presentation, each class having toiled for weeks on decorations for the church tonight . Remember, the children do go to a catholic school. Not that that fact is really in your face. The Baby in particular was looking forward to today in simply the worst way. She came down with a sore throat yesterday and a fever to match. I rarely keep the children home because of illness, but today, The Baby should have stayed home. But I had to let her go, she has been geared for today for weeks. She can stay home tomorrow.

Now, back to the church in the next village, at 7pm this evening. By then, the celebration would be over, and a few hundred children- carrying lanterns- would walk back to our town. I could not help but feel that this would be a fine sight to see, tiny lanterns snaking from that village into town, hundreds of lanterns strung between there and here.

Girl and I, with Elvis and Buddy, parked ourselves on the top of a dike facing the winding road between the two towns. And waited. Due to arrive at the school at 7.30, we didn’t spot the head of the snake until about…7.30. And how neat it was ! A tremulous trail of small flicking lights, peeping at first from behind a distant corner, the sound of singing flying over the flat lands and up to us. And soon, from here to there, a strand of tiny flickering lights and sweet voices in the darkness.

I actually recognized The Boy’s voice, as he


passed.

Cold and wet, fingers stiff, it was a lovely.

Tonight, The Father and I watched The English Patient. He asked me, oh, what should we watch, The English Patient or The Body Guard ? Usually, if I have a druthers, I say so. But I usually go to bed early, never watch the end of a film, have seen both a zillion times and so said, you pick. I really don’t care.

I sit here now, tear stained face. OH! I Haven’t watched all of The English Patient for a cooties age. Sniff, sniff, what a stinkin’ good chick flick. Makes me wonder what they will do with The Time Travelers Wife. You know, it simply has to be done, don’t you ?

As I sat there, on my couch against the window, I could here talking outside. Pulling the sheers aside, I could see that F.- the boy across the street- had his window open and was obviously talking to The Girl, who must have thrown open the window to the playroom, to chat. We have no front yard, perhaps 5? meters separate their windows.

Maybe even 4.

They talked for a long time.

I didn’t interfere. Seems to me a nice memory, opening a window and chatting with the boy across the street.

But I am a rather mawky sort of person, am I not ?

Today I worked on my quilt. It has been a long time since I could do that, the skin on my thumb has been in shreds since..oh..I don’t know. I don’t keep track. Since before the summer, maybe for a year. But I noticed a day or two ago that it all looked whole, the pad of my right thumb. Such a little bit of skin, really, an inch or two.

But tonight I could sew once again. And I enjoyed it very much indeed.

I expected The Father to be home some time between 1 and 2 this afternoon. As I walked to the school at 3.10- no The Father in sight- I began to let those gothic thoughts creep into the edges my mind : what if…?

But as I walked back home again, one hand holding The Boy’s, one hand holding The Baby’s, I saw a car parked in front of our door. It must be Papa, I said. The Boy said not, for Ome Ed didn’t have that kind of car. Well, I said, Ome Ed has a new car. Not that one, The Boy said. Well, who else would be parked outside of our front door, hmmm? And Papa doesn’t have his key.

I opened the door quickly, for Ome Ed had to see a man about a horse, and The Boy and I carried the valiant samurai’s luggage into the house.

And I earned ten points by guessing correctly- on the first try- where the delay had taken place : Paris. It took them an hour and a half to arrange for a staircase, once the plane had landed.

But The Father is home, and rubbing his hands together in anticipation of huddling about the TV and watching It’s a Wonderful Life.

And so am I.

Should you ever come to The Netherlands, know this : you don’t have to times the sales tax by two or figure out any percentages: tips are not a part of life here. They are not an established tradition, no one will pour soup over your fancy- schmancy suit recalling your lousy tip last time.

One doesn’t tip here.

It is not the custom.

But when the teenagers stop by my door, the teenagers who deliver junk mail to me at ungodly hours in horrendous weather , when they stand there looking rather stupid as they hold a dull little card up, wishing me a Merry Christmas, I give them a big- by Dutch standards – tip. I give them 5 euro.

And why not ? They could be ripping navigation systems out of cars, trashing homes, but instead they deliver junk mail at ungodly hours in vile weather.

That’ll get a tip from me any day.

As well as a thank you, for your good work.

This morning, F. thanked me for the tip. He is 13 and towers above me. I said, well, it’s a hard job. He smiled and said he pulled in 80 euro the other day. And then he told me, you know, sometimes, when it is raining…

Good boy, good work, and the world has said that to him.

Elvis barks.

The Father is home on Tuesday. Elvis can have his routine back. Sorry, I go to bed early.

Each year, someone has the biggest present. I have told The Boy that he is the lucky winner this year. He looks under the tree, but his pile does not contain the biggest present.

I simply ask him, do you believe me or not ?

He knows well enough to believe me.

And Elvis barks on.