Bulls

“Mam. The bulls in the next field are jumping on top of each other and wrestling” Jip said. “Interesting”, I said.

Surrounded by the beauty of nature and the innocence of youth, we are summering in Normandy, me and my children, eating lots of baguette and home-made jam, swirling on swings, sailing on gusty winds, trying to catch the sun before the rain falls again.






Today, I kicked the children out of the house, as they were draped over the couch and the sun did shine, our days being numbered. “Don’t come back till tea time”. I said. “Go and explore the fields” Rosie wept and went upstairs for another costume change, her third of the day, and Jip revolted by playing Lego in the front room.

Rosie has developed a dance that is rather vulgar. MTV vulgar, involving rubbing her hands all over her body and wiggling her behind, as she sings a made-up melody. We do not know where she picked this up, from a friend she says, but we do not like to encourage it, which sets her big eyes sparkling and sends her wiggles a little deeper. It is not a good sign.

Jip, at nine, may be too young to know about homosexual bulls, but he certainly has feet before his age. This weekend he officially reached my size, 40, and I am waiting to wear his new Tigers.






We are weaning off the social activities; weddings in white on Ibiza, old friends, new friends, sunshine and rain. We made a short tour of Europe with our good friends from over the seas; Amsterdam, Friesland, Normandy and hey, there they were again, our friends, under the Eiffel tower, near the carrousel, glowing amongst the crowds. My son and I went to Paris for a day. A penknife with Paris landmarks is his new pride and joy. A gold pocket mirror with the Eiffel tower for Rosie, who stayed in the countryside that day. She keeps it in its velvet casing, in the pocket of her patent pink handbag, picked up for 50 centimes at the fair last Sunday. Now shades of boredom are back in the children’s lives again, which is very healthy, if you ask me.





Meanwhile up North, A, is getting used to working, driving to an office in a real car with leather seats, everyday. He wears a blue shirt and a jacket and has a big desk behind which to sit. It is not so busy yet, a phantom of the job that will start in September after Burning Man. Three landed, now just me to go.

For summer reading, I would like to recommend “Just Kids” by Patti Smith (listening to Horses) and “when God was a Rabbit” by Sarah Winman.

Love, S1

the summer idyll in the country...

Dear S1,
Here we are again in Sweet Normandy. The parents, S2, S3 and our male companions too. Not forgetting the cats whose fur is fluffy and fresh, they smell of cut grass...

Rouen yesterday had a highlight or two: the requisite perusal of antique books and a Kriek Tindermans beer in "Le Diplomate" next to the Palais de Justice, but the Macaron Glacé at "Les larmes de Jeanne" topped them all. We all tripped off our feet and into the air for a split second with the sugar rush. All of it coated in generous sunshine. Not so this morning, unfortunately we did not make a photo of us in our rain apparel which I am sure you would have enjoyed. Despite the precautions we got absolutely drenched and cut the walk short in an uncommon bout of sensibility that suddenly came over me. It was no doubt the cold drops of water running down my neck. Luckily there is the splendour of an "after rain walk" in which everything shines and sparkles as if it were gold.

We miss you all x and wish you were here to enjoy it with us. Unfortunately no Macarons Glacés are left but we do recommend you make a detour for one when you swing round.
Love and kisses,
S2

BOXES

I think the handwritten receipt for my two night-stay in the hotel in Antananarivo, Madagascar, year 1998 - can go. Neither do we need a box of skiing socks. They have since been replaced. And I don’t think I will use the logo of my Daniel Poole party shirt anymore. I cut it out and kept it (why?).

To tell you the truth, it is rather depressing going through boxes you have been storing for five years. It seems there is very little you are happy to be reunited with. Boxes full of dusty, pen-stained bags, bits of fabric I thought might come in handy one day -you know that day I learn to sew - and lots and lots of fuzzy pictures of me and my friends, looking particularly puffy and pasty faced, stuffed into yes, more boxes. The beauty of youth? It is a myth. That in itself is a depressing realization, especially as my memory served me better.

There is to be exact one unpacked box left, waiting near the door downstairs, filled with tangled cords and papers. I will leave it for a few months, I think.

But this is not to say there are not many unpacked items still to be found a proper place; like the collection of silver date-inscribed mugs, -serviette rings and letter openers. You have to keep those, but where? We are moving them from desktop to chair. I suppose the back of a drawer will do.

I have been living in a twilight zone of dust and stuff, all of us sneezing every morning and rubbing our itchy eyes. So I also fight the dust bunnies. Feeding my children sandwiches at all meals and myself glasses of deep red wine with dark chocolate. Now and then I leave the house during the day and am surprised to find people sitting on the terraces drinking a glass in the sunshine.

God, I hate moving.

The house is nearly a home, so the wine and chocolate will have to stop on a daily basis I suppose.

Love S1

Happy house or postcard from Prague

Dear S2,

I am in Prague with S3 and am staying in the Happy House.

We eat cake and coffee for lunch most days.

As our feet were prodded on the occasion of S3's birthday, we listened to the cheers of the ice-hockey fans who collected on the big square in red, white and blue and watched the Czechs win silver.

Then we ate again.

Love S1

A gush of positivity: SADE in Antwerp

Room 6.2.2. Somerset Place, halls of residence of Bath Academy of Art.

Dear Sisters,

Spring's here. I am feeling LOVED and LUCKY. Yesterday my love took me to see SADE in concert in Antwerp. And what a treat it was. The venue itself, a bit like a Roman forum or Yankee stadium in its scale and refreshment sales (the whiff of sweet smelling waffles everywhere instead of hotdogs) filled us with trepidation at first, for the sheer scale of it, and its carpark-like walking ramps designed to get 17000 people inside in a more or less orderly fashion...but everything went well, and people were generally in a great mood. There were a few fabulous creatures in the audience.

You can tell positivity attracts positivity.

When it happens on a scale such as this, you can only be impressed. Would the essence of the music melt away in the scale of the occasion? No way! The woman sang her heart out and we were all there to witness it. Straight to the heart. I can't tell you how wonderful that was and how important live music is. Also how music can capture and even frame a mood so skillfully, and encapsulate in it, and later unleash, whole passages of our existence, stirring old and new feelings and insights, dreams, hesitations, and healing memories.

Certain songs opened up a window for me onto times when I listened to her CD in 1993 having just arrived in an empty college halls of residence. This music, along with that of L'âme des Poètes, clothed my room and spoke of a new peace and beauty. Sade has an uncommon ability to let a woman feel good about herself. I'd sit on the windowledge looking out at the blue evening and need nothing more than the words and the music.

I can inform you that the concert is full of magic. If you get a chance to go, do. I know they are passing in Prague soon. Sisters, you won't be sorry. These days the possibilities of light and projected images are so much more evolved than the last large-scale concert I attended at Forêt National (The Cure, with you S1!). Here there are bells and whistles for sure but none take away from the music's honesty. I feel truly blessed.

I don't want to give away too much, in case you do go to see her, and her fabulous musicians, who are all featured generously. They also touch on the past visually, which is amazing, and endearing, and she literally takes the music to new heights.
Just take it from me.
S2
Watch a video here to have a taste once more.

video games.

"Mam, there are some things you can do better and there are some things I can do better", Jip said.

"Like, I can do all video games better and you can do everything else better."

This is true, of course.

On the rare occasion I am handed Jip's nintendo, Mario always ends up walking, walking, walking, against a wall.

"Ugh", Jip will sigh, and with a flick of the thumb, Mario will jump and run again.

Now, this was a long introduction to where I am in the resettling process.

This week I felt like Mario walking walking walking against that wall.

I have heard this is not abnormal after three months.

The logistics do not run smoothly, I have been overbooking my children, constantly on the bike to a friend, from an activity - street-dancing to fencing to dutch lessons and in between the kids are killing each other at high volume in an open playing field. Somewhere in there I lost my helicopter view and I dare not go in and get it.

There is a faint smell of sewer that keeps popping up in the bathroom of our high design flat, with built in coffee machine and wine fridge, it lingers, and all the machines have been tuned to beep when they are finished with their cycle, which is never at the same time, and continuous, it seems, making me a nervous person.

My main characters are whining on paper.



But other than that, all is well, spring is in the air, which makes all that cycling very pleasant if I should take a moment to enjoy it.



Beside Justin Bieber has penetrated these walls, and has given my children hope for a better future.

I have rushed out of bed in the morning, thinking I heard one of my children moan with pain, but it was only Jip singing along to the i-pod with the headphones on.

Taking street dancing lessons is obviously part of a bigger plan.



Rosie drapes herself over the table in adoration whenever they play this video.



Do I look like him, Rosie?, Jip asks. No way, Rosie says.

And this is how we come to sing Baby, baby ,baby, all day long.

Love S1,

Wednesday afternoon and looking for nature

Dear sisters,

I am recuperating. It is Thursday, the day after Wednesday.

As we are back in Holland, the kids only have a half day at school on Wednesday. A whole afternoon of fun potential yawning in front of us, each week.

It took a little adjustment. At first, it was still very cold outside, I tried to get them to entertain themselves inside, but it is too long from midday to bed and the walls cultivate tension. They have to be let out.

So I find myself cycling around town looking for bits of nature to let the children touch the earth and gulp in some fresh(ish) air.

It is a question of resignation; the price of city living. I just wish they could go on their own sometimes.

I cycled and found some nature here.



Here was a bit.



Here.




This was good spotting.



Here.



And here.




Alright, once out there, everyone feels better.

Still.

Eagerly awaiting a house with a playground at walking distance.

S1