The neighbors.

Meet the neighbors. Actually, I think most of them slept over at my casita this Summer and it's a good job that I'm not scared of spiders, because I have seen them in all shapes and sizes now. Teeny ones that wanted to share my bed. Big, fat ones overhead that danced beautiful shadow dances in the light, as I read in bed. Walking out the door first thing in the morning, I would go face first into their webs. I am sure they called some bad names because then they would have to start all over again, only for me to wreck their beautiful work again in my rush to the bathroom the next day. (The bathroom is at the big house and for which I have to cross a stretch of lawn. I secretly call myself Ironbladder, these days).

First house.

When I was 21 I moved into this charming little house. I think the rent was about the equivalent of $ 10.00 a month. I believe I was one of the first young people allowed to live there, as before it was for widows and elderly women (who are usually widows anyway). It smelled awfully of cat-pee and the house leaned to one side so that anything dropped automatically rolled to the one corner.
My mother and father tore out all the carpeting, cleaned the catty corner well, and put in new carpeting and I got used to the slant of the floor and didn't feel perpetually drunk after a while.
I drove past it the other day and saw a 'for rent' sign and had to peek in. They have straightened the house and have made several changes. When I lived there the boxbed, which is the only translation I can find for bedstede, contained a small kitchen. Now I have to explain what a 'bedstede' is. In Holland until early in the 19th people would have beds that fit into wall cupboards with doors, so that the sleeping area could easily become warm and hold the warmth. With the doors closed, the bed could not be seen during the day. Another bit of trivia that is all yours now.

Hot air baloons.

I fear this is becoming a 'dog blog' because it involves Athena again. How can it not? She is always there with me. Anyway, I could not get Athena to quieten down the other day. She just kept barking and I couldn't understand why until I turned round and saw a hot air baloon, rising up behind the house as if it was going to hit it. We could actually talk to the people on board, that is how low it was and if anything makes Athena bark like a crazy dog it's hot air baloons. She just doesn't understand and frankly, this time it was rather scary because they were so low, scraping over the crops behind the house. 

The dog walking me.

September in Europe was unseasonably warm and my brother asked if I would like to walk Athena in the Amsterdamse Bos, which I thought was a brilliant idea.
Little did I know. First off, Chris takes three strides and is immediately far in front of us. This is too much for Athena, who wants to join Indy, Chris' Border Collie, and pulls with all her might, fanning out in front of me from left to right and right to left. I can't change hands because I am carrying my handbag (pffft, handbags. Why do we bother anyway?). From time to time Chris turns round to check up on us and looks back in the most relaxed way. Surely he can see the grooves my heels are making, like plough furrows, as Athena pulls me along?
Then from a path on the right two horses, in a trot, cross our path. This time I really thought my face would be ploughing a furrow. Athena is not exactly used to horses so close by and in the quiet woods her bark is deafening.
After a while, I give up and just let her off her leash. She is far better off than on, and she makes a dash for Chris and Indy. Panting and heaving I join them, just in time to see Athena lower herself in a slootje (a ditch of murky and green water) for a drink. She is happy now, I know but the smell is awful.
Chris throws a ball for Indy, who is a 6 month old pup, and Athena, who runs like greased lightning, scoops it up first. Walks back to Chris, then walks away placing the ball just out of reach. As Chris walks up, Athena turns and scoops up the ball again. This happens several times. I hear my good-natured brother mutter, 'demon dog', under his breath and I understand, but if anyone thinks that dogs do not have a sense of humor then they should have seen Athena in action. Demon dog was having a ball in more ways than one.
I pick up Chinese food on my way back home, then feed Athena and walk to the big house to say hello to the family. I had put my scarf on top of the food because Athena seldom messes with my stuff. When I return, there is no damage other than clean food containers and a little plastic bag on the floor. My scarf is still in the bag but other than that it is empty. She must have hands when I am not around, because it was all so cleanly and perfectly executed that I could hardly believe it had happened at all. The only confirmation I got was the look of utter bliss on my dog's face. She clearly had had a perfect day.

The casita.

This has been my Summer lodging. Athena and I much enjoy staying in it and are perfectly comfortable, but it is getting cold. The last couple of days have been gusty, with short, heavy showers, after which the sun comes out, but clearly Summer is over.
I call it the casita, because that's what it would be called in the Southwest. Here it goes by the grand name of chalet, which soon became Sletje, which is funny because in Dutch that means 'little slut', but in the nicest possible way.

Photo by Chris

Holland is small. I should say the Netherlands is small, but somehow that never sounds right to me. Well, whatever it's called, there are very many people here on a small patch of the earth and one begins to notice when you want to let out your dog. Athena has never been walked as such. I lived with a gate opening on to an 18 hole golf course, where the management allowed dogs to run when the the players had left. A little way down the road from my house, the desert opened up as far as the eye could see. Ever since coming here I have been looking for spots where dogs are allowed off the leash and can run. I haven't been very successful really. Every time I find one there are still bikers, runners and even roads with cars very nearby. It's off the leash, and on the leash and the occasional 'discussion' between Athena and me, because she doesn't understand why she can't just run.

I use baggies like most people do in the U.S. and even though I understand it is mandatory here too, I have yet to see someone scoop poop. When I let Athena do her business, people walking by frown or are ready to reprimand me until they see me take out my brightly colored baggie, which I whip out triumphantly just as they are opening their mouth. Still, it's not an easy thing to be a dog owner here.

There were five of them, heroically diving into the canal from the bridge, just like Jasper used to do when he was a teenager. After taking the pictures, I watched them for a while and then saw them carefully picking their way to my car, over the gravel.

They asked if I was with the police or if I would report them. Apparently, it is no longer allowed to risk your neck jumping off the bridge. I don't think the authorities minded much in Jasper's time. We had a nice talk about many things including the question if an American dog would feel at home in Holland.

End of Summer.

Geese flying over in V-formation, making an enormous racket, heading south. Summer is over and it's time for me to move on again.

I started out with no art materials at all, and lately on visits to friends and family, I have been given an arsenal of pastels, inks and gouache as well as blank canvasses, brushes and papers. I even have an easel now. I have been working steadily away on rainy afternoons and will soon have some work to put on my blog. In addition to the art materials, I must make a strange impression, when I take Athena out for a walk, as I pick up feathers, leaves, bark and sticks.

No matter. I have always done this. I have made some Magic sticks, for the want of a better name. I paint them; decorate them; hang feathers on them and even some sheep wool that I found near a field on a fence.

Slimy slugs.

Holland, where I am staying with family, has not had this much rain since 1906. I really don't mind the rain much, because after so many years in the desert it is quite refreshing. The slugs come out in great numbers when it rains and get in your way when walking in the garden. Great fat, slimy slugs that are little cannibals too, I have discovered. Squash their friend underfoot and the others have a feast.

Green Wonderland



Swing Card published by Santoro Graphics Ltd London

If I look out of my window I see green plants and Summer flowers. I am wearing something warmish because the wind has picked up the last few days and the rain is a constant visitor. All very different from my usual situation, where it is now sizzling hot, and at this time of the year most plants have given up except for the Mexican Firebird and some foolhardy Lantanas. I'm not sure if I am glad to miss the heat in the desert, or if I have traded it for something that, in its own way, is bothersome.

When I take Athena for her walk, we pass green pastures with black and white cows, and a field with sturdy and beautiful beef bullocks, who look up warily at Athena, who is not interested at all. The sheep, across the road are far more interesting, but only fleetingly because she is smelling the 'news', and takes her sweet time doing this.

When I was in Chiang Mai recently, I found the tiniest glass bottle, and a publication of 'Alice in Wonderland', printed on Saa (Mulberry) paper for Fleur.  The tiny bottle made a big impression. At times, a very simple and inexpensive gift sparks more of the imagination than a toy that apparently has everything. We played many Alice stories, some by Lewis Carroll, others our own.

Fleur's birthday is coming up soon and when I saw the Swing Card, I knew that it was for her.



Warm Welcome

The regular readers of my blog will have noticed that I have not posted in quite a while. I am traveling and although I think of my blog regularly and have lots of ideas, I simply haven't found the time, the peace of mind and the quiet I seem to need to write, draw or work on my blog.
I was given a warm welcome in Holland, land of my birth, in more ways than one. The weather was lovely and warm for the time I was there and is highly unsual in April. Living in a desert, as beautiful as that may be, doesn't provide much in the way of color certainly not like in Holland. There was color everywhere, but especially the tulip fields were head turners.

My brother sent me this picture of a tropical bird in his garden in the Netherlands. It is quite amazing to see that whole flocks of these kinds of birds appear to have settled quite happily in wet and presently cold little Holland.

A great big melting pot.

 

I dream about this. Ripe, sweet figs.

Last spring I planted my third Mission fig tree and again during the summer I lost the tree. I am determined to try again. Though I must admit, I don't see a lot of fig trees around here, so I might be trying the impossible.

I must have tasted my first fig, picked from a tree in our garden, when I was about 5. That's when it all started and since then I am always looking for fresh figs. When I am unable find them, dried figs, but even better, fig jam will do as a replacement.

One of the best lunches in my life was when we took a boat in Istanbul to see the beautiful old houses on the waterfront of the Bosphorus. Towards midday the ferry docked in a small town of which I have forgotten the name. There we had to wait for several hours to take the same boat back to the city.

I found my way to a long line of women in front of the public toilets and I paid some money for a piece of paper which was very frugally handed out by a woman in a black caftan and scarf. I looked at the 2 sheets of paper that she gingerly had laid in the palm of my hand and hopefully looked up at her. It was clear that it was all I would get.

Walking down the main street we bought bread, grapes, olives, cheese and figs and we found a place on the banks overlooking the water to have our picnic. If you have never eaten fresh Turkish bread then you have missed something. The perfect combination of these simple foods and the luscious, ripe figs have left a lasting impression on me and added to my fig fascination.

When I was visiting my mother in Holland this fall I passed a Turkish grocery store and outside stood a basket with ripe figs. Soon the shop-owner and I were picking out the best and ripest fruits for my dessert that evening.

Holland has become a great big melting pot over the years and when I am there I much enjoy shopping a little at the Indonesian toko for my spices, and at the Turkish or Moroccan grocery stores for the things I cannot find in my area of the U.S.

Enkhuizen harbour.

Reluctantly I move on to new things with one last look over the harbour (US English harbor) of Enkhuizen. I was fortunate to live in the center (centre: as I learned it) of town in a fine house with a bell gable (klokgevel in Dutch) built somewhere in the 18th century. I miss going around the corner to buy fresh bread, cheese and vegetables from the people you were on first name terms with. Some are still there, some have closed. Delft Blue Pottery is making a revival in Holland. Who would have thought it? It was okay for your grandmother to have but it really was for visitors. Now of course, I wish I had not given away all I bought for friends in other countries, but had kept some for myself too. All I could find in my house was a tiny pair of clogs, a little tile I recently received and a very old little dish.

These are not mushrooms.

 

The falling leaves, the warm light and the evening breeze all indicated that Autumn had arrived in Holland but all the days of my stay were sunny and mild. One could not wish for more in the country of my birth. Fleur and I made up a super tale when we found these mushrooms all about fairies and dragonflies and the sparkles on the water of the pond, which you see, is not really reflecting light but are really water fairies catching the light on their capes made of spiders' web and silver fish scales. (I am turning off the light now, so go to sleep).

Life at the edge of the pond.

Feeding ducks is fun, but imagine when one morning the swans no longer keep to the agreement: we will let them be, if they stay somewhere in the middle of the large pond. 

Hissing and being just generally pretentious as only swans can be, two of them sauntered up to our cottage and were demanding something. I pretended that I was too busy with my camera to hear them, because you can't respond to every little hiss you hear and Fleur was laughing at me from behind a window. It didn't take too long before I had to grab a chair and become a fearless lion tamer swan tamer, and hiss right back at them. Ultimately they won, I retreated brandishing the chair and taking baby steps, backwards through the door Fleur had opened for me. 

Purple Duck.

 I do love that little country but I find the streets very narrow and last time I visited, my mother and I were driving through villages and down country lanes as happy as can be, when at a point we entered a pretty little town (they are all pretty and picturesque) and I realized that I was driving on the 'fietspad' (bike lane) where only bikes are supposed to go. I mumbled something like 'well, it all looks like Madurodam to me', but I don't think my mother heard me because she was laughing so much.

Daar bij die molen reden we in een paarse eend.

Of course I didn't mean to post "aqua' it just happened. Jet lag probably and trying to upload a lot of photos to my Picasa albums online, in the midst of unpacking and doing my laundry. With this picture it's no secret where I have been. Blue skies, green pastures with friendly black and white cows, and in the background the soft whooshing of the windmill. Actually, that is my wild imagination because there was no whooshing going on. I did have blue skies though all the time I was there, and when I returned the inferno I call home had simmered down to a lovely temperature, and I could open all the windows to let in some cool night air. Sometimes life is so good. 

I am going to add a bit of a description to "Aqua" so that it makes sense.