No pets were harmed........

....during the making of these photos. Not even Petje.......

Biggles, have you seen Petje?

Who?

Petje?

Nope!

Please check the Camera Critters site for more entries, or just join in the fun and post your own Camera Critter!

The mind boggles bloggers

When it comes to re-using toiletpaper, I poop out!

(this picture was sent to my by e-mail, many moons ago)

B is for Boots

These are my favourite boots. I love boots. So let me introduce you to:

From left to right:

• My green Le Chameau rubber boots. Bought them about 6 years ago. Still in good order although I wear them almost every day, mucking out the stables, working in the garden, training and walking with the dogs. Found them in a shop with huntingsportsstuff, where they sell everything a hunter could want, in every colour! As long as it is green.
• My riding boots. Had them made to measure about 20 (yes, 20!) years ago. Also still in good nick. But that's because I stopped riding about a year later and then took it up again about 5 years ago, so I've been wearing them 6 years now. I love them! Dread the day I have to buy new ones for apparently I have unusually long shinbones, so they will have to be made to measure too. Aaaarghh.
• My new brown boots. They are so beautiful and look really nice with the skirt that I have and wear about twice a year. So they will probably last me for years to come too. Big smile!
• My absolute favorites, the real thing: actual Dubarry's. I finally gave in and bought them a couple of weeks before last Christmas. So now I really belong to the club of people with labradors, fourwheeldrives, a house in the country, a waxcoat and Dubarry's. My cool image went out the door as soon as the Dubarry's entered. But they are so comfortable and nice and warm. And so pricey that they will have to last me for at least 10 years. Let them be warned!

Visit ABC Wednesday for more interesting B-entries or just join.

Great title

I'm being really honest now. Please respect that. Do not make fun of me. I will do that myself! Okay, so you know that some, well actually most, bloggingpeople have these really witty and jocularly (just found this in a dictionary and thought it would be funny if you'd try to pronounce that, since my 'followers' seem to be alcoholically intoxicated most of the time, or is it just a tonguebreaker for me?) blognames and smart titles above their bloggadgets. For instance: I noticed that lots of bloggers have this great title above their 'followers'list: "Stop following". I thought that was very funny and clever. "Hahaha", I thought, "Stop following!", seeing this movie in my mind of people looking over their shoulders, walking really fast, whilst trying not to run for that would look like you're afraid (someone actually followed me years ago by the way, really scary, until I got tired of this frightening weirdo and turned around to confront him, shouting: HEE ENGERD! WAAROM VOLG JE MIJ? ROT OP SMEERLAP. IK ZAL JOU EENS EEN TIJDJE ACHTERVOLGEN. KLOOTZAK!!!! and that scared him so that he actually ran away and I never saw him again. Creep!). Where was I? Oh okay, so "Stop following" and I wished that I had thought of that. For I would have loved to put that above my list of 'followers', but since almost all of you already have done that and I like to be a little bit original. "Well...better think of something else then", I thought. Until I found out that it's actually a googlelink that you can click on to end the following of that particular blog (please don't, you know how much I love my 'followers'). So you are not so clever after all! You did not think of that title yourselves! Google did it for you! HA!

Party!

Welcome to you, you lovely 10th 'follower'. This calls for an 'Oscarspeech' and a party. Thank you to all my 'followers' who made this possible. Unfortunately we drank all the champagne when the 5th 'follower', the lovely Mimi, joined, so it will have to be orange juice. Cheers!

So Fa So Good

(This is my 3rd Camera Critters entry.) Our sofa is a designer one! It even has a name. It's called Easy Living. ("What does this have to do with Camera Critters?", I hear you ask. Please be patient. All will become clear!) The thought of finally being able to lead an Easy Life, and the fact that it actually is a very big and comfortable couch, sold the Easy Living to us. When we bought it some years ago, we had visions of winter's evenings spent on our beautiful new couch, in front of the open fire, a glass of wine within reach, feet on the table (I know....a no no for more sophisticated people), something really good on TV (well, as soon as we included that into our vision, we should have known that this whole dream would never come true). This couch was a fair amount of money well spent! Or so we thought. For we can hardly be found on this very inviting couch, that beckons: "Come and rest your bottom on my oh so soft but yet very supportive cushions." In fact, you can more often find us sitting on the not so comfortable carpet. Lack of sofaspace forces us to more 'down to earth' evenings. "Lack of sofaspace?", you might ask. "But I thought this was a really big couch and there are only two of you. And still we are no clearer on the point of this being a Camera Critters Entry. So...?" Well, to be true, we are the only human beings in this household, but not the only ones that can really appreciate this Easy Living concept. We are lucky if there is a tiny space left for just a buttock to be enjoying the comforts of the Easy Living sofa. And finally we come to the Camera Critters point.

AND LAST, BUT NOT LEAST....

Please visit the Camera Critters blogspot to see all the other entries!

Stainless women and George (or Brad)

Now really, I don't understand how some women can stay stainless all day long! For I can never manage that. In the morning I get out of bed, visit the toilet, take a shower, put on a clean shirt, go downstairs, look down at my shirt and there it is! The first stain of the day. If I am wearing a black shirt, it will of course be a white stain. If I am wearing a white shirt (if I dare wear white, it takes a lot of courage, because I know myself by now and white is a challenging colour to wear if you are prone to getting stains), it will be a black stain or indeed a red, green, yellow or purple one. And how did the stain get there? No one knows. Certainly I don't. Otherwise I would have done something to prevent it from landing on my, what was a, clean shirt. But there are women, in fact I know some of them, who can avoid stains. No, really! Maybe they have some invisible bubble around them, preventing the stains to reach them. Or maybe they have a washing powder that I haven't found yet, that leaves some anti-staining layer behind. Stains magically disappear, even before they reach the fabric. I know someone who has a black labrador and takes him for walks in the fields and woods opposite our house. If ever I do that, my legs disappear up to my knees in the mud, the dog disappears up to his or her ears in the mud and then the dog jumps up to me out of sheer joy, and I return home unrecognizable, all covered in mud (but with a very soft skin). But not her! No, she can wear crisp white trousers, a crisp white shirt and crisp white shoes and she will return spotless! I have asked her how she does this, but she merely laughs and shrugs her shoulders. "Can't help it." No, I bet she can't. I also know someone who says: "Oh I've been working in the garden all morning, phew!" (wiping the non-present sweat of her forehead, stainless people never sweat). But I knów how shé stays stainless! She has a gardener and her idea of working in the garden is standing there and pointing where plants have to be planted. There's no trick in that. I could do that. But I don't have a gardener. I have to do it all myself. And we have quite a large garden (about 7000 square meters). Well, allright, hubs occasionally does some gardening too, but his gardening usually includes something quite loud, like a chainsaw or a sit-on lawnmower. No hard graft there. Not like me. My hands actually touch the earth, the trees and the plants. Leaving them all black and with all kinds of thorns in them. And then I wipe my forehead, I actually dó sweat, and leave a nice black stain all over my face. Which brings me to Brad Pitt. Or George Clooney. I can see you frowning there. "Whát brings her to Brad or George?" Well, there is a televisioncommercial, in which a family is having a nice evening together, looking all lovely of course, and suddenly the doorbell rings. Mother opens the frontdoor and guess who is standing there? Brad Pitt! And he needs to use the telephone, internet or the loo. I really don't know what this commercial is about, because every time the mother opens the door and Brad Pitt is standing there, my brain switches off and I disappear into my own daydream of opening the frontdoor and look! There he is! Mr George Clooney himself! And there I am! In my baggy jeans (because my jeans always end up baggy for some reason, nothing like the incredibly well-fitting crisp white trousers of my acquiantance) and my stained shirt with black smudges all over my hands and face, my hair peaking and curling in all different directions. I always try to gather it all in a nice ponytail, that is the most practical option when mucking out the stables, riding the horses and digging up plants, but during the day lots of hairs escape the elastic band and go their own way. Usually I don't agree with what my hair has planned for that day, but shaving my head just seems too radical an option. With this image in mind, one of my New Years' Resolutions was: Making More Of An Effort To Look Nice! Well, that's the one resolution I simple can't keep! It is actually physically impossible for me to be a stainless woman. My mind wants me to stay clean and fresh and stainless. But my body doesn't work with me. I just can't do it. I fear nothing will ever happen between George Clooney (or Brad Pitt, beggars can't be choosers) and me. The mere sight of me will probably be enough for them to run away and try the neighbours' house. And there the stainless acquaintance in the crisp white trousers and the stainless shirt and the very neat ponytail and beautiful make-up, will open the door. Because that is were she lives. And she will go off with George ánd Brad. You'll see!

I want a dog......

I've heard this phrase many times now. You would think it's a child saying this and you could forgive him or her for the wish of owning a dog without realising how much commitment it takes and how much time to take care of a dog. But actually I've heard this said many times now by quite a few of our adult friends. Most of our friends are career-people. They have 8 to 6 jobs (not even 9 to 5), a great and very busy social life, go on holiday at least twice a year - preferably more often, take weekend brakes, live in exquisitly furnitured homes - all very stylish, with manicured gardens. We are part of their social lives, so they visit us, usually I make dinner, they sit at our table, one or two or maybe even three of our dogs at their feet, they sit on our couch with a dog at their side and feel the stress of the day flow away by stroking the soft fur of the dog and fumbling the dogs' ears. All very nice and cosy and relaxing. So they say: "I want a dog!" And I ask them: "Why?" Usually they say something like: "I like dogs!" At which point I say things like: "But if you get a puppy, you will need to train it and it will pee and poo on your carpets. Training takes lots of effort and time. And you are hardly ever at home." "We could get a puppy in our vacation and stay at home to train it." "It will take longer than your three weeks vacation to train it you know!" "Hmm." "And then you go back to work. What do you do with your dog. You can't leave it at home for a whole day. You have to take it for walks." "We have a big garden. We will put a fence around it." "And leave the dog outside, all alone? So that it can ruin your lovely garden? And what if it rains or if it's cold?" "I have seen lovely big dog-kennels. We could easily fit one in our garden." "Why would you want a dog and put it in a kennel all day? Do you think that would make your dog happy? If you had children, would you lock them in a room and tell them that mummy will be back this evening? No later than eight? Enjoy yourself?" "You can't compare a dog to a child. We would bring the child to a daycare centre." At this point my blood starts boiling. Don't get me started on that subject. But I try to stay calm and reason with them. "And if you want to go on holiday. Do you take the dog? Or do you leave it somewhere else? You can forget us by the way. We will not take care of your dog while you are having your holiday! We never go on holiday because we don't want to burden anyone else with all our animals (well, we don't trust anyone else to take care of our animals to be really honest). And we are not taking care of your dog because you want to lie in the sun somewhere. Forget that!" "We will find a solution. We can always leave it somewhere." "Tie it to a tree you mean?" "No of course not! But we have parents, and other friends, and there are kennels." "You c a n n o t get a dog! Until one of you stops working or at least stops working full time. One of you has to be at home for half a day each day before you can get a dog!" Usually they give in then. To keep the peace I suspect. And I really hope that they will think twice before getting a dog and then decide not to. I really love all our friends by the way. But sometimes they just don't make sense. That feeling travels both ways: these friends of ours do not understand that we do not want to go on holiday. They really don't understand that we are committed to our animals and that we do not want to leave them in the hands of other people. Preferably not even for a day! They say that we are exaggerating. Surely we can leave our animals in their capable care for a day or two or more? No! I don't trust them. I know that is a horrible thing to say. But I don't trust them to take care of our animals the way we do. I mean.....the above conversation I've had with not one, not two, but three couples. They are not committed enough. And our other friends have their own menagerie, so they don't have the time to take care of ours. We don't mind really. We are quite happy where we live. We don't need to go somewhere else to relax. And if something comes up where we are expected to turn up; one of us goes and the other one stays at home. A couple of years ago I really wanted to go to Oxford University for a short summer course in Art History. So I went for a week and hubs stayed at home. And if hubs wants to go somewhere, I stay at home. No problem. Do we exaggerate our love for and commitment to take care of our animals? I really don't think so. Another thing that drives me up the wall is that people who have an animal that needed a vet for whatever reason, often start by telling in a resentful voice: "do you know how much that medicine/operation/visit cost?" I should think that your pet's health would be far more important than how much it costs. If you want to own a pet, make sure that you have the money to take good care of it. Friends of ours have three horses, and they have no stables or land of their own, so they have to rent that. One of the horses is very old, 33. And he looks very old. But he's healthy and happy. Someone, who owns a horse too I might add, said to them: "Why don't you put that horse to sleep! He only costs you money and he doesn't look so attractive anymore." Oehw, that person is very lucky that I wasn't there when he said that! I would have kicked him in a place I would like to mention, but good taste and the revolting idea that he even has them, prevents me. You know where I mean. Fortunately our friends love their horses. Oh, and one of our neighbours, who claims to love dogs, got a dog from a dogshelter, which is very kind of course. A couple of days later they put up a dog-kennel in their garden. I asked them why. "Well", she said, "I like dogs, but I don't want to be limited in my movements. If I want to go away for a day, I am not going to let the dog stop me. So I can put her in the kennel. She really doesn't mind. She even doesn't pee or poop in it." The poor dog. Fortunately not very long after that they got their first child and since that child limits her movements anyway, I believe the kennel doesn't get used anymore. Anyway, I've read a post this morning concerning the way people treat animals, written by the lovely T of 'It Matters To Me' (you can find her blog in the sidebar under "These blogs I like..") and that brought tears to my eyes and to my heart the feeling that I had to write this post. Please....if you think of getting a dog (or indeed any animal)....read her blog, think twice, wait 6 months, think again and then do or don't.

A is for African bowl

We brought this bowl from a visit to The Gambia about 12 years ago. A friend of ours was doing voluntary work over there and we went to see her.

This is my first ever entry for ABC Wednesday. The pressure of thinking of something interesting enough for a photo and beginning with an A was almost too much to cope with.

But this is exactly the reason why I wanted to participate in this project. So I have to work my brain and try to do something with my poor (and this is NOT a case of fishing for compliments or false modesty) photography skills. And my really not very sophisticated camera (Samsung Digimax 15) isn't helping. But....until I have a really good reason to buy a better one, I have to make do with this one. There are worse things. Looking forward to seeing all the other entries en to next wednesday. Visit ABC wednesday!

Blue monday

British psychologist Dr Cliff Arnall figured out that the third monday of the year is the most depressing day. Christmas overspending resulting into debts, bad weather (how true today, it's been raining all day, grey grey grey), finding out that you can not keep your New Year's Resolutions, coping with going back to work after the holidays: all that amounts to people getting depressed on the third monday of the year. Which is today! Fortunately, if you felt (or feel) a depression coming on today, help is at hand at Beatbluemonday. Just having read an article about this in the local newspaper made me realise why things went wrong today. I had to go and buy catfood. Our cats are gourmets; they will only eat a special brand of catfood, only sold by Albert Heijn, a supermarketchain. Not that we haven't tried to feed them all kinds of catfood, so that we would not have this problem. But no....they have decided that they like this one best and they will not touch other brands anymore. Fortunately they don't have an expensive taste. Every cloud has a silver lining. So....I had to go to Albert Heijn, in another village about 6 kilometers (4 miles) from our home, for this AH-catfood and I decided to do the practical thing and do the weekly shopping at the same time. Determined to stick to it I made a shopping list. With temptation lurking around every corner and only CATFOOD and healthy and low fat peoplefood on my list I knew I had to be strong! Pure willpower and concentration resulted in a shopping kart without chocolate, cookies and crisps. Very pleased with myself I drove home again and unloaded the two crates of healthy stuff to last us the whole week. And then I discovered what I had forgotten. Yes, you have guessed it. I did not buy the catfood! And we only had one tiny tin of catfood left. And we have five cats. Not enough catfood! I had to drive all the way back to the shop again. Turned out to be expensive catfood after all. Fortunately it's Blue Monday. I know it doesn't make sense, although I did feel depressed when I discovered that I had to go back to the supermarket, but it's a good enough excuse for me. Beats suffering from a minor case of Alzheimer's yeah?

Promises....

Oh I'm so addicted to this bloggingthing. I know...I already told you, but really....I'm surprised by the effect it has on me. My heart makes a little jump for joy when I see that the 'comment'-counter went up with one or maybe even more. Not to mention the 'followers'-counter. I cannot tell you what that does to me... If this goes any further I may need therapy, an intervention of some kind or a straightjacket. Anyway...I promise not to go on about this any more. And I also promised a fellow blogger that I would put up some photos of our two pigs Nufnuf and Tumtum. Really stupid of me of course that I did not liven up my post that mentioned them with their ugly little faces, but there's no time like the present to set this right. Please, brace yourselves, for they really are not the most beautiful looking creatures, but they are very friendly and they love a good bellyrub. Nufnuf is the small one (the first photos), Tumtum is the other one (well you could have figured that out yourself):

And they love roaming around our garden. Spot the pig......

Yep! We will pop the cork tonight!

Welcome Mimi, you were so kind to be the fifth 'follower'. Thanks & cheers!

It's only a small bottle *sigh*

Camera Critters 2

Phoebe and Lapje snuggled up together for their afternoon nap. Phoebe is the dog (a Labrador Retriever, she is 12 years young), Lapje is the other one (not even 1 year old). She is a tortoiseshell coloured cat; we call that 'lapjeskat', hence the name Lapje. A 'lapje' in Dutch is a small piece of cloth. A quilt for instance consists of all kinds of different 'lapjes'. If you really want to know how to pronounce Lapje.....uhm: well the 'a' sounds like the 'a' as in the British pronounciation of bath. If you replace the 'a' by an 'o' you're almost there. Sorry to have bored you. This is my second post for Camera Critters.

Dear 'followers' (and other nice people),

Oh I'm so proud of having 'followers'. It's quite an honour to think that there are people who like to read the things you write or who enjoy the photos you take, isn't it? Maybe some of them only joined out of politeness because I'm a 'follower' of their blog, but hey....I choose to think that they really like my blog. Please, don't burst my bubble. And speaking of bubbles: I just had a great idea! If the fifth 'follower' joins, I will open the champagne! Not that you will benefit from that (sorry, I wish you would), but I hope that someone really nice reads this and allows me this little treat. Not that I'm begging ;-) And you know what else is nice about being a 'follower' of my blog? (I really can't help putting the word 'follower' in between these quotation markythings, it feels like such a strange expression to me. It reminds me of 'the Borrowers' and also has kind of a sect/cult-sound to it, which isn't a positive thing, but don't let that stop you of becoming one of course.) What was I saying? Something about the benefits of being a 'follower'...... Ah! I know: it makes me feel so good, that it really helps me sticking to my diet (see HELP!) Hey! And now I will make myself lunch. It will consist of an orange and some low fat yoghurt. Thank you, dear 'followers'. Oh, and please feel free to correct my English, I will not be offended. Thanks again. Have a nice weekend everyone!

HELP!

So much for my diet!

And it was all going so well!

Really. Since I spent the whole day in bed January 2nd, when everything I ate or drank left my body within 15 minutes, via the wrong way, I took up a strict regimen of only eating things that are good for me.

No cookies, crisps or cake (well except for half of the one that I baked when I felt better, but that one only contained creme fraiche, eggs and the cakemix which had Speltflour in it and that is supposed to be very healthy), but lots of fruit and yoghurt and other so-good-for-you-stuff.

Oh ehm, and two toffees and four slices of 'ontbijtkoek', which is a really low-fat cakevariety, typically Dutch I suspect, and I even bought the one that has even less sugar in it than the normal one (see the blue bit in the top right corner, that says it all).

And ontbijtkoek is the type of cake that if you eat one slice you can enjoy it the rest of your day. It nestles in all the nooks and crannies that you didn't know you had in your mouth, and you spend the rest of your day wriggling your tongue along your teeth in order to collect all the pieces of ontbijtkoek that are left. Added bonus: at least your tongue gets a good work-out!

So I felt really good. Thought I lost a good amount of weight too. Felt definitely lighter.

(I have to base my dieting episodes on my instinct, common sense and jeans. Stopped weighing myself years ago. Weighing myself almost always depressed me. And depression makes me want to eat. Now, if my jeans feel a bit too tight, I stop eating crisps and cookies for a while until they fit me again, and then I go back to eating all the wrong but oh so good stuff. But hey....life's too short so enjoy it while you're here.)

But for the last two weeks or so I really did not feel the urge to indulge myself in fat or sugary foods, so I was happy!

Until we received an irresistable invitation of a wholesale company that sells mostly food and drink and toiletpaper. That sort of practical stuff. (We can shop there because hubs has his own business.) And if we would spend 100 Euro at least, we would get a 20 Euro discount!

Well, being Dutch, famously frugal, yesterday evening we went shopping to 'earn' our 20 Euro.

But when we had filled our shopping cart (is that the right word?) with all the things we needed, we were nowhere near that 100 Euro. So, instead of doing the logical (well...logical?) thing and buying all the toiletpaper we could ever need, we decided that we had to buy things that we maybe didn't need but that certainly could make life a bit more fun.

At that point unfortunately we entered the freezersection and it appeared that they had lots of 'Australian' ice cream in all sorts of flavours and well.........in a moment of weakness we surrendered and bought five different flavours, which required actually quite a lot of self restraint. We also bought small packages I have to say. They also had very big boxes of ice cream, but we had a little bit of sense left.

And then we passed the cookbooksection. "Just buy them if you want them", hubs said generously. Thus Jamie Olivers 'Jamie's Italy' and Nigella Lawsons' 'Nigella's Christmas' entered our shopping cart. Nigella doesn't do fat free or low-calorie food and her recipes probably will taste good even if it isn't Christmas.

Later that evening, knowing that we had all those cartons of lovely flavoured ice cream, I couldn't stop thinking about it and then I snapped, opened two cartons and had a bowl of ice cream.

So now I feel guilty. And am I imagining it or do my jeans feel a little bit tighter than they felt yesterday?

O hell!

All this frustration makes me depressed and depression makes me want to eat.

And I keep thinking of the other three flavours. What will they taste like?

HELP!

Your fault! Yes....you!

For me this bloggingthing we do is kind of addictive. Well, to be really honest; not 'kind of' but very addictive. Just last week I started reading a new book by Mari Jungstedt. A thriller. Usually I want to know who killed the victim and why and I cannot read fast enough. But I'm stuck at page 56 for over 5 days now. Can't get any further. And it's all your fault! You keep writing such lovely stories that I have to keep reading your blogs first. And every time I (try to) walk past my computer I have to see if you have entered a fresh story for me to read yet. And then of course there is David McMahon's Authorblog, who recommends lots of other people's stories to you and me. At this rate I will never know who killed Egon Wallin and why and how. Thanks a lot, I hope you're satisfied!

Seeing is believing

One beautiful sunny afternoon, last autumn, I was working in the garden. Biggles and Holle, two of our three Labradors, were rummaging around me, trying to pick up an interesting scent or to find something absolutely horrible to eat. Phoebe, the third one (or technically the first one, she is the oldest and longest with us), was also somewhere in the garden doing her rounds in her own calm, nothing-bothers-me-way. Suddenly I heard childrens' voices, coming from somewhere right at the back of our garden. Never before I had heard childrens' voices coming from there. Holle and Biggles heard it too and rushed towards the sound. I followed, curious about what was going on. All the way at the end of our garden there were three little boys, about 8 years old. One of them was in our garden, one was just balancing on one leg with the other one hanging over the garden fence to get into our garden too and the third one was still on the other side of the fence in the neighbours' garden. Biggles and Holle were jumping around, barking, overly excited as they always are when they see people. I recognized the boy who was still balancing on one leg, the other one dangling somewhere in the air, trying to make up his mind if he should pursue his idea to enter our garden or maybe not. His name is Bart, he lives a couple of houses down the road and is a great fan of our two pigs. Whenever he has friends over, he rings our doorbell and asks if they can visit Nufnuf and Tumtum. Apparently, on a courageous impulse, this time he brought his friends through the neighbouring garden - the neighbours were not at home - to the back of our garden, hoping that no one would see them. "Whát are you doing?", I asked, being a little bit indignant with their brutality. Startled, one leg still stuck in the air, he tried to keep his balance and asked: "Uhm, may we visit the pigs?" "Well okay", I replied, "seeing your friend is already here and you are halfway here anyway." The third boy stayed put in the neighbour's garden. "He is afraid of the dogs", Bart said. And to his friend: "It's okay, you can come over here, these dogs are alright, the don't bite." Holle and Biggles were still happily barking and jumping around. "He's right", I said to the little boy, "they really don't bite. They are just a bit overexcited." The little boy put his finger up: "A dog bit me once". "In your finger?", I asked. The boy nodded. "Well, it's still there", I said. The boy looked at his finger and nodded again. Then he looked at the dogs and decided that he didn't want to take the risk. He still had all ten. "She will take the dogs inside", Bart said, pointing to me. "Well okay", I smiled. I like Bart. Bart walked home with us, leaving his two friends behind. Each on another side of our fence. On our way there we encountered Phoebe. "Aaaah", Bart patted Phoebe on her head, "she can stay outside. She is so nice and calm." And he ran back to his friend to tell him that there was still one dog outside, but that this really was a very friendly one. I took Holle and Biggles home and, together with Phoebe, returned to the boys. Halfway down the garden Bart came running towards us: "He wants to see the dog first!" You see.....that's my motto too: "Seeing is believing!"

My first Camera Critter

This is a picture of Petje asleep. Petje is one of our 4 young cats. One day perhaps I will tell you why we adopted 4 young cats. The name Petje may sound strange to you. But in my language, Dutch, it means small cap. Not that we wear her on our head. But it looks like she is wearing a very small cap, the way her fur is coloured. Coincidentally Pet of course is pet in English, and hey, she is our pet. And if something is small, we often place 'je or tje' behind a word. But this is no language lesson, so to the point please.... This picture of Petje is my first entry for Camera Critters. To be honest; I hesitated if I wanted to enter into the Camera Critters' world. I am under the impression that you have to like knitting, embroidery, sewing and scrapbooking in order to be a Camera Critter person. And really I don't like any of these things! But I like animals. And the ones that live with us provide lots of nice pictures for me to take and share with you. So Camera Critters it is!

Can't think of a fitting title......

Finally it's not freezing anymore. The temperature is above 0 degrees Celsius. It's still cold though. And they say that it will be below zero again this weekend. I hope not. People who like iceskating (I am not one of them, I like my legs, arms and neck the way they are: not broken) had a ball the last five days or so. All of the Netherlands, present company excluded, took to the ice and skated their socks off. Hospitals are full of people with broken wrists, legs and/or ankles. Iceskating, what fun! But hey, there is ice, we are Dutch, we are supposed to be able to iceskate from birth, so here we go! I used to be able to skate. I could do pirouettes, skate forward and backwards. That was it. No double flips, jumps or other brilliant stuff. And it was many moons ago, when mammoths still roamed the earth. And before the little intellect I have took over. Plato: "To be is to do." Sartre: "To do is to be." Sinatra: "Do be do be do." I'm with Sinatra on this.

Nice family

It is my uncle Abe's 96th birthday and my parents are visiting him in the care home where he lives. Uncle Abe is suffering from Parkinson's disease and can't walk, sit or speak properly anymore. In short: he spends his days lying in bed. Very sad actually. Uncle Abe is a widower, his wife Fran died a couple of years ago, with two daughters, Rita and Karin, and a son Ben. When my parents arrive at the care home Rita is already there. "O what a nice surprise", she says excited (as if she hasn't telephoned a couple of times making sure that my parents were coming to her fathers birthday party) and starts rearranging the chairs. She parks my mother next to uncle Abe's bed. After a while Rita disappears to check if the coffee and cake-arrangements in the care home's livingroom are ready. My father, who wants to stretch his legs after the long car journey, is going for a walk. My mother is left behind with uncle Abe, who is asleep and starts snoring louder and louder. Until.......he stops snoring, stuck in sudden silence with his mouth and eyes partly open. "Gosh", my mother wonders, "maybe he's dead!" And she looks at him suspiciously. But.....no sign of life. Then Rita returns. "Well, the coffee is almost ready!" And she looks at uncle Abe. "Oh, is he asleep?" "Uhm, well, asleep....", my mother hesitates. So Rita takes another good look and takes uncle Abe's hand. "Dzjee, all cold! Maybe he's dead!" And she flies off to find a nurse, leaving my mother with a cold and silent uncle Abe. My father and Karin enter the room. "O how nice of you to come all this way to visit dad!", Karin says. And looking at uncle Abe: "Is he asleep?" "Well", my mother hesitates again, "uhm, asleep......". Karin takes uncle Abe's hand too and wonders: "Maybe he's dead..?" She grabs his shoulders and shakes, yelling in his ear: "Come on dad! It's your birthday. Don't die on us today!" But no response from uncle Abe. Son Ben arrives. "Is he asleep?", he asks, looking at the pale and silent body in the bed. "Uhm, well, asleep", my mother and Karin say as one. "Maybe he's dead. And on his birthday of all days." "Oh well", Ben says academic, while taking a seat. "Dead today or dead tomorrow. He will die some day. I would kill for a cup of coffee. They told me there would be cake!" And at that point two nurses enter the room and shake uncle Abe back to life again. So he didn't die on his birthday after all and they all (they take uncle Abe too) go down to the living room for coffee and cake to celebrate. At the party Ben tells that he visits his father every week and then rearranges the furniture and photoframes, much to the excitement of my uncle Abe who growls and groans and points his finger to make clear that he doesn't want that! He wants everything exactly the way it was when my aunt Fran was still alive. "Well, it is so boring otherwise", Ben explains. "If I tease him a bit he gets a bit more lively!" My mother told me this story, tears in her eyes. But not because she found the whole thing upsetting. Oh no! They were tears from laughter. "Hahaha, we almost had a birthday party with a corpse!" She also did the faces and a good imitation of uncle Abe snoring and then dying (or so they thought). We almost nominated her for the Oscars. Nice family with a strange sense of humour. Which I inherited, because I too find this a very funny story. Uncle Abe died a couple of months later. Just for the record: we all loved uncle Abe. He was a very kind man. I so hope that there is 'life' after death and that he will take his revenge by haunting my nephew's house. Then we can all get a good laugh out of it, including uncle Abe!

My feet are freezing!

Let there be light......

You really have to read the entry below first to know why I posted this photograph.

How to hang a chandelier.....

This is my first blogentry in english, I am Dutch, so forgive me the stupid mistakes I will most probably make. Please correct me in the comments-section. I will be forever grateful. We finally found the light. We had been searching for years and suddenly there it was. You always find things when you give up looking for them. Well maybe not always. Often though. It was hanging over a dining table in a shop where we were looking for pillows for our garden furniture (which is also a good story, maybe later) and was exactly the modern chandelier that we wanted for our librabry. Which sounds very posh, but really isn't. No really. Anyway, this room with bookcases has a ceilingheight of about 4,50 meters. And in this room a winding staircase leads to a landing that is open on two sides. You can look down into our library on one side and on the other side you can look down into our entrance hall. Can you picture it? There probably is a better way of describing it, but I can't think of it so this will have to do. Maybe all becomes clear(er). This very hip chandelier was to be our light in the darkness of our library. So we went to our favorite supplier of exciting devices and machinery and rented scaffolding. I suffer from a mild case of vertigo, so you will never find me up there, but hubs doesn't mind. Or so he says. So, after two glasses of wine to build up his courage, although he denies that of course, we went upstairs and put the kitchensteps on the landing so that he could climb over the balustrade onto the scaffolding, defying death doing so. A little bit weak in the knees I was holding the kitchensteps steady. "Oh well", hubs said, "the most difficult thing of this whole operation is probably inserting the 48 halogen lights." By the way, hubs has the necessary certificates for working with electric stuff (although he took these exams a long, long and even longer time ago). So we can assume that he knows what he is doing. Or can we? In all the DIY-programmes you are instructed to take out the fuses, but hubs almost never does that. "If the lights are out, there is no current." So I was under strict instructions: "Hold the kitchensteps steady and don't lean against the lightswitches." "Are you not scared at this height on top of the scaffolding?", I asked. "Not at all", said hubs. "Don't worry. My head is firmly jammed against the ceiling." "So there will be a greasy stain next to our beautiful chandelier", I mentioned, always the practical one. Which comment was not received very well. As I explained (or tried to); from the landing you can see the library on one side and the entrance hall on the other side. It was late in the afternoon, getting a little bit dark, so hubs switched on the lights in the entrance hall in order to see what he was doing. These lights are on another switch, so that he could do that safely. He said. Good idea by the way, to install a light when it is allready dark, but hubs does not appreciate remarks like that at such moments. While I was admiring hubs courage and technical ability, the lights in the hall started flickering, which I mentioned to hubs. "Not interested!", he replied, strenuously trying to do something difficult with wires and electricity whilst standing in the twilight on top of unstable scaffolding, not very interested in light conversation. Until he cut through a wire and suddenly all the lights went out. Very surprised hubs stood on top of the scaffolding. "I told you that the lights were flickering!", I said a bit upset. "And I did not touch the lightswitches!" "Well, now I have to take out the fuses", hubs grumbled and defied death again, climbing onto the landing. During the renovation of our home extra wooden supports were put into the ceiling because we already knew we wanted some sort of big chandelier. But that was two years ago. We knew where these supports were then, but now...... Well, we had to guess. It was a heavy lightfitting with a transformer which had to be suspended from four chains hanging from four hooks in the ceiling. Hubs screwed the first hook into the ceiling, guessing where a wooden support should be, and went on to screw the other three into the ceiling. Looked good! Attached the chains and the transformer to these four hooks. Still looked good! And while we were admiring his handywork so far, hook nr. 1 fell out of the ceiling. So the next day we had to go and buy special screwplugthings (I'm sorry, really don't know the correct word) for plasterboard. And hubs, fortunately well insured, had to be brave again and with my mental support he finally succeeded in hanging our beautiful chandelier in the library. Wow! Looked good. We took down the scaffolding and made a cup of coffee. The doorbell rang. It was a very good friend of ours with a good nose for coffee I think. We proudly showed our new acquisition. "Wow", she admired it. "Beautiful. But I think it is a bit high up. It should be hanging a bit lower." She was right. So hubs sighed deeply, put up the scaffolding again........ This was over a year ago and the chandelier is still hanging, somewhat lower, proudly in our library. We can see what we read!