We are caught in the middle of some Piranesian nightmare.

We have no idea when the Italian’s will release Oma’s body. Both my Dutch and Italian sister-in-laws are working two phones each to get this arranged.

Brother 3 wants The Father to go to Italy with him tomorrow. Brother 3 wants to see his mother once again.

This is so gruesome, for The Father and I just spoke about this, before the call. Our conversation was whether or not the children should see Oma dead. I am so terribly against this, oddly enough, because The Father told me when my Mother died not to see her dead. I trusted him. I never saw her dead. He told me then, you do not want to see this. Keep your memories.

But we have to get Oma and Opa home.

And all of those calls to be made. Oh dear.

Their housekeeper had a key to their home, and so access was attained, their papers were read.

We have to arrange a funeral. Who knows when. Their papers said that they wanted to be buried by Opa’s mother and father.

Is this going to be f*cking simple ? No. We have to get permission from Opa’s two surviving brothers. And guess what ? You got it.

I have no idea what we are going to do. We certainly are not having Gado Gado tomorrow for dinner.

But we will bring Oma and Opa home.

That was my Scarlett O’Hara voice.

I am going to take a bath, wash my hair. I have an appointment with Albert tomorrow. And I am not going to miss this. This is a half an hour, tops.

Shoot me for the self centered pig that I am.

While I was fretting about, wondering whether or not I had enough mustard in the potato salad, Oma dropped dead, from one minute to another. Boom ! She is gone.

In my usual manner, I became rather, but not quite, hysterical. I cried and cried and cried, and for some reason, kept trying to remember her recipe for tomato soup. She was going to write it down for me. Again.

They were down in Italy, around Viareggio ( we are all such creatures of habit). She called The Father this morning, what a nice time they were having, she just had a Cappuccino. And a short time later, she simply dropped dead, a heart attack.

As well as the emotional shock ( I really do think that I can recreate that soup) the logistics involved here are horrendous. Opa has a bad heart. He is now in some Italian hospital, under sedation. We have to get him home.

We have to get Oma home. She is in some Italian morgue.

And we had to tell the children.

This was horrible. She was the perfect mother and the perfect grandmother.

After a while, The Father became rather annoyed with me. I asked him, at a certain point, what are you thinking ? Nothing. How lucky you are, I have ten thousand snapshots and sound clips going through my head and I cannot stop them.

He has gone to Brother 3. To make the arrangements for the funeral. Brother 2, who lives in Italy, will get Oma and Opa back home.

The big question now is Opa. I keep saying, this is step 2. I have said this about 10 times. This is annoying to other people. Get him home and let us deal with step 1 first.

Oh, jeepers, I cannot believe this.

I am really looking forward to seeing Albert tomorrow. He makes me feel smart and interesting, not simply the wretched house wife that I have become.

I have already learned so much from him. My eyes have opened. There are so many lonely people walking around. Yesterday, as well as the usual crew, I chatted with 4 other people.

I said something like, well, that looks like a pleasant place to sit. Weather always works in The Netherlands. And that man talked to me for 3 to 5 minutes.

Dogs are always good. I always say hello to dogs. As I was walking down our street, I saw a 60-ish woman walking some corgi mix. Right in front of our house. This dog was really pulling on the leash, and so I asked her, is this a young dog ?

She all but told me the story of her life.

Imagine that.

I do not do this intentionally. It simply blubs out.

They have those things called Dream Catchers. I am beginning to feel like a Loneliness Catcher.

And this is not a bad thing to be.

Albert has made me feel alive once more.

We ran out of those fancy french buns ( starts with a croi), and so I went to the baker to get some for The Boy.

I was so close to Albert’s, that I thought, it is now or never. And with my little paper bag, filled with crois, I walked over and rang the doorbell.

I was going to apologize for ringing his doorbell, but there I would be, doing it again.

He thought that I had come to see his art. He showed me a lot of it, and I was supposed to say what I liked most. I kept telling him that I was painting blind and that I did not come to see his art, but him.

I picked out the landscapes. I was in a corner. Dutch skies are very beautiful. Later on, downstairs, he showed me a charcoal sketch that he had done of his wife. This I liked. There was so much love in those simple lines. And I said so.

I asked him if I could gaze at his books. Sure. Fine.

It came up that I had studied Theology and Philosophy and he said that he was not surprised.

He gave me some folder. I have no idea why.

But I shall see him again on Thursday, at 10 am.

Today someone else initiated a conversation with me in Town.

I am flabbergasted.

I know that this is a very gossipy town, I have been told this by two people that I have often accosted with inane compliments. What a beautiful sweater ! ( It was Norwegian) Oh, that beard looks nice on you ! I have talked quite a bit with these two people, so it is not like I accosted two, complete strangers.

I wonder if this has anything to do with me being seen talking to Albert ( earlier known as Sanders by Dali) the other day.

One never knows, in a small, gossipy town.

I am now going to call Sanders by Dali Albert.

Over the weekend, I learned that he is one of the 3 most famous people who lives in our town.

As far as artists go, he is in the top 2.

I feel like such a fool. I had no idea who he was.

This was a major faux pas on my part. And I mean major.

He asked me to come and visit him and the next day, I did. I had on a pair of blue jeans with a hole in one knee ( one day, I will buy more clothing. Really.)and my tatty and filled shopping bag.

He probably kissed me because he felt sorry for me for being so ignorant.

In The Netherlands, one does not simply * drop by*. Nope, you compare agendas. I simply was not thinking. I was just nearby. And I thought that he was a lonely old man.

Today when I did the shopping, I looked for him, but, in a way, did not want to see him. With this hot weather, I had to buy so many things and carry them home. The bag was so heavy I thought that I would collapse.

I am coming to the conclusion that I have to see a Doctor.

But I ended up having to make three more trips.

I kept looking for him, but, after 15 years, I am pretty sure that his walk is in the morning.

I cannot ring his doorbell again, knowing now what I do.

Oddly enough, while his loneliness made me stop and talk, I realize now that I am the lonely one.

I am The Stranger. At 15, I gave up trying to fit in. I am not going to have a cup of coffee and cake and go shopping with someone. I might have a glass or two of white wine with someone, talk, but then really talk.

But my interests are terribly esoteric. This does not make me clever. Not at all. It blocks me off.

Perhaps this is why I have kept this blog. I can simply talk to myself and a few other people.

Today at lunch, The Baby and I finally saw The Mourning Dove chicks.

The Boy had told me that he had seen them on Saturday, but I shall forever be The Doubting Thomas.

There are 3 or 4 of them. They are quite large, 4, 5 inches.

I had read that Mourning Doves will abandon a nest at any threat, so I have not worked on a large part of my Sprys since that nest appeared.

My climbing roses are a mess, but we have Baby Mourning Doves !

They are beautiful to watch.

Guess you have to like birds…

Today the Dutch soccer team plays in the World Cup. I think that in English it is against Slovakia.

We have some one coming over to watch the game with us. At about 3.30, 4 pm.

It is hot here. I have kept the curtains shut all day, attempting to keep the cool of the evening in the front room.

So far, this is working.

Now, if I watch TV, our snacks should be beer, the Dutch equivalent of Hot Dogs and a lot of greasy snacks.

But because of the heat, I have altered this. I am, after all, the hostess, and this is my privilege.

I bought two pounds of cherries, and they are chilling. These are really good cherries.

Believe it or not, I bought Strawberry Popsicles. Men do not outgrow Popsicles.

I also bought a French bread. I know what this is called, in two languages, but I cannot spell it in either one. It is about 2 feet long and 4 inches thick.

It is very fresh.

And I bought some cold cuts and what the Dutch call salads : all cold. One with some sort of shrimp ( I tend to think crawdads, they are pretty big and flavorful, they are called river lobster here ) and one with a *hot* chicken.

And a couple of sorts of peanuts.

Why eat rubbish in this weather ?

For the first time in, oh, let me think, in 21 years, someone in town spoke to me first.

I will be the first to admit that I am not gregarious and that my Dutch sucks. Rotten eggs sucks.

I am your sortof Good Morning, Bad Weather, Good weather sortof person. This is very Dutch : to talk about the weather.

I can not even come up with the Dutch word for *Bible*. In most cases like this, it is the same word.

I have never needed to learn the Dutch words for what interests me, what the heck is Existentialism in Dutch ? Or what a protractor is. Stratigraphy. And who cares ?

But someone talked to me first today, the young man from the fruit and vegetable store. I know, he has to be nice to me, I am a client. We talked about football- soccer, and that America lost. But we are now both for Ghana. Why not ?

I did not say why not.

At the bakery, I got the free, old bun for Murder Bird. People were a bit complaining about the time it took, but, hey, I am there every day. Obviously, this was taken into consideration.

I stopped by the Ladies sitting in front of the bookstore. They were in the the shade and it looked quite pleasant. I said so. That old, rather grumpy Beagle was there, and I said, oh, no sun for her today, Hey ?

I did not say hey.

Then, I said hello to the dog sleeping there beside them and said, in English, I know that you do not want me to pet you. But that is fine.

And then, as I neared home, I passed the famous clairvoyant who lives in our town. While I am not one of the famous, a lot of world famous in Holland people live in our town.

She smiled at me.

This was a shock for me, for she very often has passed looks of disdain in my direction. Most likely because I look like a bag lady.

And there I went again. She always dresses very flamboyantly. Her skirt had a lot of orange in it, and I said, a delicious amount of orange and this is certainly the day for it.

And then I reached our front door.

Something is changing here.

But I sat for a few minutes and made the beds, did the laundry.