Zondags

Zondags gaan we tweemaal naar de kerk – het is eigenlijk geen kerk, we noemen het de Vergadering, als in Vergadering der Gelovigen. De Vergadering probeert zo dicht mogelijk volgens de apostel Paulus’ beschrijving van de eerste gemeenten te komen, zonder dominee of een leidinggevende organisatie. Daarvoor rijden we naar de stad en daarom wordt er wat over ons gefluisterd in het dorp – er zijn immers al twee kerken ter plekke, de Hervormde en Gereformeerde kerk? Mijn moeder blijft meestal thuis want zij voelt zich ‘er niet bij horen’. Dus dat betekent dat ik als enig meisje in het mannen gedeelte zit bij mijn vader en broers. Ik voel me tussen het gebrom van de mannen tijdens het zingen niet erg op mijn gemakt en steel zo nu en dan een blik naar het vrouwen gedeelte waar dochters samen met hun moeders gekleed in passende rokken zitten en melodieus meezingen. Mijn oma zit er ook, haar armen over elkaar hoog op haar ronde buik. Ze draagt rechte bloemetjes jurken en dure hoeden met veren. Althans, mijn moeder zegt dat de oma er een kapitaal voor uitgeeft en dat het toch om eenvoudigheid moet gaan. Een doekje op de kop moet goed genoeg voor De Heere zijn, hoewel de vrouwen die dat dan weer doen er toch wel wat armoe-zalig bijlopen. Er is ook een jonge vrouw met breed gerande hoeden die korte rokjes en hoge hakken draagt. Dat lijkt ook nergens op, volgens mijn moeder, maakt de mannen alleen maar gek, en haar man preekt bovendien zondags ook nog. De meisjes hoeven hun hoofden nog niet te bedekken – dat kan later, als ze er zelf voor hebben gekozen. Sommige meisjes beginnen ermee zodra ze besluiten zich te laten dopen en anderen wachten ermee totdat ze het Avondmaal gaan aanvragen. Heel soms kondigt Mem aan dat ze toch maar even meegaat op een middagje, en dan zit ik vol trots naast haar. Ze kauwt tijdens de hele dienst op fruitmentos en blijft zitten onder het zingen en de gebeden. Ik stel me voor dat ik net als de andere meisjes ben. Heit glundert onze richting op – maar zodra we thuis zijn zegt Mem dat die-en-die helemaal geen dag heeft gezegd, en dat ze er toch maar moeite mee heeft als de oudsten vroom aan het preken zijn terwijl er nooit geen belangstelling voor ons wordt getoond. Mijn vaders blik verandert dan en hij is weer de in zichzelf gekeerde man die wij kennen. Dan weet ik dat het weer een tijdje zal duren voordat ze meekomt. “De Vergadering is een goed plekje, maar is een heel moeilijk plekje”, dat zegt Mem veel, dat heeft ze weer van haar moeder gehoord. Ondanks dat Mem niet gedoopt is en ook niet aan het Avondmaal gaat, dat elke zondagochtend wordt ‘gevierd’, heeft ze wel de meeste historische verhalen over de Vergadering. Ze verteld over de ooms en bekende broeders die grote evangelische tentdiensten hielden en Johannes de Heer liederen zongen rond het traporgel waar Beppe op speelde thuis op de boerderij. Zij was verliefd op een wereldse jongen in het dorp, die Elvis Presley liederen zong met zijn gitaar – Love Me Tender. “Maar daar kwam Heit op zijn brommertje aan”, vertelt Mem, en Beppe vond Heit toch wel een hele goede en vertrouwelijke jongen.

’s Ochtends snijd ik de korsten van mijn boterham en doe er niks op. Ik speel Avondmaal, en breek een stukje van het brood af en stop het in mijn mond waarna ik het bordje doorgeef aan een denkbeeldig iemand, wij knikken eerbiedig naar elkaar en sluiten onze ogen om de diepe betekenis van dit brood te overdenken terwijl we aan het kauwen zijn. Voor jaren, eet ik mijn brood zo – telkens het bordje doorgevend aan de persoon naast mij.

Een nieuw broertje

Op een nacht word ik wakker van een huilen. Ha, het zal de nieuwe baby zijn waar Heit en Mem het over hadden. Dus ze zijn eindelijk naar de Vivo geweest om het kleintje op te pikken. Ik ruk de dekens van mijn bed en ren naar de overloop. Daar staan H en R al bij de reling te wachten. Ze gluren naar beneden in de hal waar een zuster tevoorschijn komt. “Jullie mogen nu wel even komen kijken om je nieuwe broertje te zien”, zegt ze. Dat laten we ons geen twee keer zeggen. Ik ben wat verbaasd om Mem in bed te zien liggen, ik had verwacht dat ze nog met de jas aan bij de keukentafel zou zitten. De dokter is er ook, hij is de baby aan het wegen in een soort net. Mijn broertje ziet er rood en paars uit en huilt verschrikkelijk. Zijn mond is zo groot van het krijsen dat je nauwelijks zijn gezicht kunt zien. Ik vind het zo zielig. Maar daarna wordt de baby bij mijn moeder in de armen gelegd en staan mijn broers en ik er met onze neuzen bovenop. Hij heet P, zegt Mem. De volgende dag moet ik naar school, maar Mem kan mij niet brengen met de fiets. Ze stopt een auto op straat, er zitten al drie kinderen in van een dorp verderop, ik herken een meisje die hele mooie dikke vlechten heeft. Mem vraagt of ik mee mag rijden. Ik durf de kinderen niet aan te kijken. Eenmaal in de klas mag iedereen wat vertellen over wat ze allemaal gedaan hebben de dag ervoor. Normaal zeg ik altijd dat ik brij heb gegeten die ochtend, maar deze keer heb ik eens wel een nieuwtje.

Het Begin

Opgerold in een slaapzak lig ik op het bruine tapijt voor het televisie toestel, mijn kin rust op mijn armen. De smurfen zijn er voor, maar omdat wij nog een zwart-wit toestel hebben, weet ik nog niet dat de smurfen eigenlijk blauw zijn. Dat concludeer ik pas later, als de Vivo blauwe smurfjes weggeeft bij sommige producten en wij ze gaan sparen. Smurfin is mijn lievelingssmurf. Ze is zo mooi met haar golvende gele haar, het witte jurkje en de lange wimpers. Al gedraagt ze zich soms wel wat verwend hoor. Mijn broers zitten op de bank achter mij, met lange gezichten, zij wilden het A-team zien, maar Heit en Mem beslisten dat we maar om de week moesten afwisselen, de ene week het A-team voor hen, de andere week de Smurfen voor mij. Ik vind het vooral leuk als Smurfin eens een ander jurkje aantrekt of een andere bloem in het haar doet, maar dat gebeurt niet al te vaak. Ik weet dat heel stiekem beide broers toch nog wel de Smurfen leuk vinden.

Kleuterschool is begonnen voor mij, elke dag brengt mem mij achterop de fiets naar juf Akke. “Akke moet kakke”, roepen de kinderen over het schoolplein naar elkaar. Maar ze maken zich er wel zeker van dat juf Akke het niet hoort – want dan volgt er zeker straf. Ik moest ook al eens op de gang staan nadat ik tegen juf Akke had gezegd dat ik ‘miegen’ moest – want dat zei mijn broer R altijd, “Ik moat miege”, als hij plassen moest. Terwijl ik met rode wangen van schaamte op de gang stond begreep ik dat het niet een netjes taalgebruik was van mij. Ik zit graag in de boom, achter het gebouw. Het mag niet van de juffen, maar ik voel me er lekker veilig, uit het zicht van de andere kinderen. Als je op het klimrek zit, jagen de jongens je er net zo hard weer af. De meisjes spelen met springtouwen en hoepels, ook paardje rijden, met eentje in het tuig en de ander er rennend achteraan. Dat vind ik ook wel leuk, paardje spelen. Maar toch het liefst zit ik in de boom, stilletjes wachtend totdat de pauze eindelijk over is en we weer naar binnen mogen. Ik kleur een huis in met regenboog kleuren. Je kunt het huis openvouwen en door de raampjes kijken. Ik gebruik alle kleuren die op tafel liggen om het huis in te kleuren en denk aan het leven van de mensen binnen in het huis. Woont er ook een meisje? Zijn er ook grote broers? Broers die zo trots zijn op hun kleine zusje en heel lief tegen haar zijn, ze luisteren naar al haar verhalen. De meisjes aan mijn tafel giechelen “wat stom”, zeggen ze, “zo ziet een huis er toch niet uit?”. Als ik thuis kom verscheur ik het huis.

-wordt vervolgd (misschien?)

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

- Robert Frost

"Behind A Glass Wall"

"...And I must grow in love and patience
And forgiveness and long-suffering too
Through the long and empty hours
Of the silent unreachable you.

When I feel like I don't exist
With loneliness way beyond bearing..."

- Marguerite Long

Unwanted Companion

Months have passed
And it is expected to have forgotten or put to rest at least
The hurt
I can't seem to let go
And the pain is eating at me slowly

My life is at a standstil
I function, I work, I crawl into my role
The hurt
It is always there; it has come and found a home
Deep in my being

What is it that will take my sorrow?
Is it a word, a look, a leaving?
The hurt
When will it pack up and let me forget?
My only companion

A tug at the heart

I'm thousands of miles away from home. While checking my Facebook on my blackberry I saw an alert from my son asking kids if they knew where his sister was. Alarm bells! I called him and he was saying that he couldnt locate her neither at school nor at home. Her bike was still at school and her phone was dead. Husband called the school and they started looking immediately. What could I do from this distance? I started messaging her friends on Facebook and called my neighbor. Desperately I was looking for ways to be able to get a hold of her...husband was about to call the police when we heard she had arrived home safely. Turned out she had gone home with a friend and the text she sent her brother hadn't gone through. Of course, I expected there was a simple explanation like this one. But the thing is, you never know.

Still shaken and with a glass of wine I was thinking about my quick tears....when it comes to kids, as a parent you realize in experiences like these that what really can tug at the heart, what really hits home are events that concern your children. Nothing else seems to matter when it comes to children. That's how it should be.

Sunshine or not

Finally - the sun is out! Now, I can take a nice walk and awaken my senses! Jeez, just as I'm writing this it started raining again. Perhaps just as well, I just remembered I have to send my taxes in today! Crap - Well, perhaps if I plan this right I can walk to the post office to post it today. We''ll see.

when night falls

and every evening
when my cheeks are wet
when the house is full of nightly sounds
when everyone has gone
I am still awake
listening to your breathing
trying to ignore the pounding
of my heart
my whole being wants to scream
hear me please
touch me please
love me please
and my throat aches
from all the screams not uttered
from all the cries held back
I turn over the wet pillow

Memories

The room we entered was brightly lit, although I hardly remember it that way. When I dig into the depths of my memory I see the dozen or so men gathered around a table. The details of the room, the furnishings, the chairs, I can't picture them any longer.
The men were dressed in black suits, because that is how it always was. They were elderly or middle-aged as it was so hard for a young man to have the life experience needed.
We sat to the side. All eyes upon us, my breasts heavy, reminding me of the baby at home. All the while I spoke to myself and to the child I just delivered. It's not true, today is a lie, but I have no choice. My fingers crossed, but only in my mind.

How come that memories fade and truths are distorted over time? Even when the memories are of life-changing events? The details around the event change in my mind and I search my brain for clues. Sometimes you hear people say "Today is a day I will never forget". They say this about their wedding day or the birth of their first child. Details become fuzzy though and all that remains are memories of the core event and emotions. Some details are only kept fresh through photos and film.

For me what remains is the feeling of self-betrayal. Who knew it could be so strong? Going against everything you believe in proofs to be damaging, even with fingers crossed. How many times have I relived this day, but changing my answer to: I have no regrets.

The Journey

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice --
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do --
determined to save
the only life you could save.

~ Mary Oliver ~

resettling

Resettling - what an odd word that is. We're back in the States for a year-and-a-half now. It has been a tough rollercoaster ride. We made some new friends, reconnected with old ones, and, sadly, lost some friends along the way.
Still, we are without roots and I find myself clinging to the rare true friend I encounter, fearing it's almost a matter of time before they too move along. The people who can so unconditionally love because of blood ties are far, and I long for them from time to time. The longer I stay here, the more the ties, that keep making me look back, are being loosened.
Tragedy has happened this past year, and it changes everything.
Reinventing my life made me question my choices in every aspect of my life. Foundations did crack, but will be rebuild.
Resettling, such an odd word...but that is what has taken up my past year-and-a-half. I will be resettled, and hope to flourish.

October

And now it is October...We crossed the Atlantic once again and settled on the West Coast of America. After living in hotels, at family, and temporary apartments, we moved into our own home and have been reunited with all our belongings. The kids are getting used to their new school, Martin is busy as always with work, and I've started a temp job at Expedia.

It's funny how far away the "England days" seem now. It's also funny that I now miss things I didn't know I would miss! Of course, somewhere along the line I must have known this would happen. Hearing my friend in England talk about a weekend in Nice makes me instantly jealous. There is something to say for Expat life, especially now my life seems a bit boring and mundane.

To me it feels like I was "out" for three years and that I have now returned to the rest of my life. This can't be true, because that would mean that Expat life is not part of the real deal. In a way it is true in that Expat life can be truly privileged, but it is still life...with it's own kind of challenges.

In any case, I'm back in the US, just in time to roll my eyes when seeing the disgusting presidential campaign ads, not even wanting to know how much money is being wasted. Just in time to experience the country's big economic crisis and realization that they voted for the wrong guy two times in a row...duh...

Yeah, we're back alright.

Goodbyes

A young English fox in our backyard

Today was the last day of school for the kids and there was lots of waving and hugging involved. I did see quite a bit of tears, but not from my kids however.

It is strange to leave this life in England behind and all that has become so familiar to us in these past three years. For sure it has been quite challenging at times to live here, what with all our crazy landlords and all... (read Cameron, Jackson, Howarth Homes etc.) But this is all past us now and I have to say that our last landlords have been wonderful so far, pouring us sparkling wine whenever we stopped by. (Of course the guy is Irish, that may just be the difference)

Things I will miss from here:

• The international school and community
• My international oriented friends
• The walks with my friends
• The European honesty, open mindedness and willingness to help without any conditions
• The tube!
• Our little road trips to visit family & friends in Holland
• The quick little trips to other European destinations--although there were few

Things I will NOT miss from here:

• The lack of customer service
• The sour faces at the stores
• The long lines at the stores
• The lack of parking

We're packing up next week and start a new life somehow with lot's of unknows again and this is always a bit scary, at least to me. England will never be one of my favorite places in the world but the experience of living here has taught me so much. It has opened my eyes to different choices of education for our children, it has taught me more about European culture and their mindset (even though I am European myself), and mostly it has taught me about myself and my place in this world.

I'm looking forward to our new life in the US, but it is with a heavy heart that I go...I don't have roots in the US and I never will...my roots are in a small town in the north of Holland and I will always be that simple down to earth Frisian girl who is just trying to live the best life that she possible can...

Tot ziens, Auf Wiedersehen, Au Revoir, Goodbye...

Labor in the UK

Within 11 weeks the movers will be here. When the representative of the moving company asked me in how many days we were packed up in America he was quite surprised that my answer was "one day". He asked me how that was possible. "Well", I answered, "a crew of five come in, and each starts packing up a room, and they don't stop until they're finished." "Labor must be cheap in the US", was the reps' response to that. I told him that when we moved from Holland to the US the movers took one day as well and that since our recent international move, my husband and I had moved our household three times more, and gotten rid of quite some stuff in the process. I could tell he was impressed when he found out that we had moved without help of a moving company.
"Four days", the rep told me, it was going to take their movers four days to pack up our household, based on the volume of our belongings. Both my husband and I have since asked if they are sure about this, telling them that we really don't have that much stuff, but they insist that it will take them four days.

A family member in Holland put it quite bluntly when she said, "the English are lazy". She had worked for a couple of months in a care home in England and drew her own conclusions from that experience.
My Thai beautician uses the exact same term, "the English are lazy, and I'm married to one". Well, I don't wish to argue with that.
I don't know if the English are lazy as such, but perhaps they are comfortable; they feel they can take it easy perhaps of the soft cushioning the government provides for when they fall, so to speak. I know I'm generalizing here, and I certainly don't want to imply that this is true for all English, as I'm sure it's not...but for some, yes, I think it may be the case.

There have been several articles and reports about immigrants and immigration in this country, and if this is a burden or if this gives an economical benefit to the United Kingdom. From what I've read I have the feeling that the opinions and conclusions are quite conflicting. I can just share my own experiences and the stories I hear around me, and from what I see I conclude that this country needs the immigrants. For example, the people from Eastern Europe that I've met here are highly motivated to make a better living for themselves, and they work hard to make it here. Our neighbor, who is a business owner, tells us that he will take a Polish worker anytime over an English worker, because he knows that he can depend on them. If the Polish worker can't come in for work, he will send a buddy to do the job.

A former neighbor, a cultured Englishman in his eighties who tells us he is not racist, has the opinion that the neighborhood and the city is going down because of immigrants and "blacks". Now I really don't want to argue with a man at his age, who survived the war, and travelled the world, but the parents on the streets who are yelling shamelessly to their kids in the shopping centre, are most definitely English. So is their gardener, who told them he is building up a business for himself, and suddenly he just stopped coming. Why did he let the neighbors down so suddenly? It turned out he was saving up for a holiday, once he made enough money, he just didn't show up at the scheduled time with his customers and just went away to enjoy the sun...I imagine he will have to start his business up on the ground floor again upon his return, he can't count on the recommendations of his former customers I'm sure.

The English are proud of their country, and of their history of being once the most powerful nation on this earth. An acquaintance said once "we did not become great by being nice", but I wonder if they realize that they are losing their edge. Businesses like cleaning companies, removal businesses and plumbing services owned by immigrants are rising from the ground like mushrooms. And guess who I would call if I need something done around the house? Yes, someone who is reliable, flexible and honest hardworking. I'm done waiting for a given time slot of 8-5 for someone who may or may not show up.

I'm very curious to see what will happen with the packing up of our belongings, and if they will really need four days to complete work. Maybe they come with less than five, probably they just work short days...I don't know how else I can explain why the movers would take that long. We'll see.

Finally, the Ranch got Raided

Ever since reading "Under the Banner of Heaven" by John Krakauer I've become intrigued by the mormon fundamentalist movements, and especially the FLDS. I've watched several documentaries about the followers of this church and recently I've read the gripping story of Carolyn Jessop in her book 'Escape'.

You have to wonder what makes people submit to the power of the likes of Jeff Warren, who found a way, using his faith, to marry young girls and abuse children. Carolyn Jessop gives us a glimps of the believes and fears of these followers in Colorado City. Her book tells us about the child abuse that is generally accepted and the struggle of women in polygamist households. Children born in these closed off communities know no better then what they are told, and naturally they will believe what they are taught. Girls are being married off younger and younger, and local police are FLDS member themselves, making escape even harder.
But it got even scarier, when Jeff Warren had several families moved to a heavily guarded ranch in Texas. Abuse could continue without the outside world ever knowing... Finally, the authorities have found the opportunity this weekend to raid the ranch and take all the children, and the women as well.

I hope these children and women will learn to see that they have options and choices to live their own lives, without having someone dictate them on how they should live and who they should marry.

Snow Day

After awakening, my son rushed out this morning to make this snowman...Good thing he did, because by afternoon all snow had disappeared.

Never A Dull Moment

I knew I felt the bed moving last night...but my hubby told me I must have had a bad dream after we were talking last night about an armed burglary.
I still remember the news of the poor lady that was brutally kicked to death in 2006. What I didn't know until last night, after chasing a photographer away who was taking pictures around our house at night time, was that those same killers came around here that very same night and attacked the neighbors.
After finally turning of my lights after 12, I heard a lot of animal noises to the point that it started to concern me. But I must have dozed of, only to awaken by a feeling that the bed was moving beneath me...I switched on my light and felt my pulse quicken. It was confusing to see that nothing was out of the order, and no stranger was in the bedroom..."Maybe I'm having a fever", I thought... As soon as I heard the news in the morning that there had been an earthquake last night around that exact same time, I knew that I felt that...even though the epicentre was quite a ways away.

And as for the violent robbers? They have been sentenced today and will be locked up for a long time to come...

2008

-By Martin- From our Hotel room in Seattle

There were some technical difficulties with the Space Needle fireworks this year, but hopefully this is not an omen of the year to come. Best wishes for 2008 to all of you!

ex Great Britain?

Coincidence or a sign?

Our son pointed out the license plate of our rental car says "XGB"...