Very Important message

Okay guys and girls, listen carefully: I will zay zis only wanz:
I’ve decided to start another blog for my photos. It’s called brinkbeestphotos. You can also find the link at the bottom of the page. Exciting, isn’t it? Who will be the first member of my photo-fanclub? Will it be you?
The main reason for this new venture is that I think sometimes my photos need a place of their own, without too much other things going on around them. Oh that sounds really pretentious. But I’ve registered for a workshop Horse Photography and a Photoshop course. All this schooling will hopefully result in lots of shareworthy shots.
(Perhaps I also need to start a blog about words I’ve invented. You may think I’m making mistakes, but I’m just doing some creative and inventive spelling ;-))

Of course I’ll still be posting the usual nonsense and stories about my life in general in this exact location. And to prove that I’m totally over the stupid Lyme disease and can blog ‘til I drop again, I’ve also accepted an invitation to join in the fantastic Fridge Soup blog (my first official Fridge Soup post).
I know, I hope I’ll end up in an institution that has internet access ;-)

Getting jumpy

Horse riding, and specifically dressage. That’s what I like to do. My horse Naloma however has a different idea. She likes jumping. Understandable, because she was bred to jump. I’m not.
In fact, after every jump (on horseback that is) I need clean underwear. And that is almost true. Being scared shitless comes quite close to what I feel when riding towards a jump. Funny thing is, that I only experience that much fear when galloping towards a jump. Jumping from a trot doesn’t faze me at all. Perhaps the fact that Naloma starts growling like a lion when she gallops towards a jump has something to do with it. And that she builds up so much speed that I lose control over her could be one of the reasons. I literally have seen my life flash before my eyes on occasions. So I gave up jumping and concentrated on dressage.

But recently, to please Naloma, who became jumpy even without actual obstacles to jump over, I’ve plucked up some courage and taken up jumping again. Strictly under the supervision of friend and trainer Jans who used to be an international show jumper. He knows what he’s doing. I don’t.

Now, another fear of mine is being photographed. Honestly, I’ve cried when seeing photos of me. So very disappointed by seeing that ugly mug staring back at me. I know, it’s sad and shallow.
So there are not many photos of me. Until I recently had a riding lesson. I’ve asked hubs to take some pictures. Just to see how it looks. And I instructed him to screen them well; to take out the ugliest ones before showing the acceptable ones to me. And hubs took up the challenge. He didn’t take a couple of photos. No. He took about 500 (yes, five hundred). Well, one of them hád to be acceptable.

And the best thing is… I can look at most of them without crying. Progress!

The dog is called Ruby and is Jans’s little assistant. This is one of the first jumps.
Doesn’t look like much, and it isn’t much, because this was from a trot. piece of cake ;-)

Look! Getting braver by the minute. But not quite ready for the Olympics yet.

Biggles found a front row seat to watch the show from

LATEST UPDATE (before publishing): Last week Naloma and I jumped a ‘course’ of three jumps (not the one in the photos below, that is just a follow-through), galloping all the way. HUGE triumph for me. And Naloma behaved very well. Jans thought I had jumped a course before, but it was the first time in my life!
What can I say: so many talents ;-)

Farmer Dirk's gate, Groningen

100 things I love about the Netherlands: 5

You know what I love about the Netherlands? Or at least about the part where I live (which is the North Eastern part), but I imagine there are lots of other parts in our country where these things can be found too:

Little stalls with excess fruit, flowers or vegetables

that people have in their gardens. The stalls vary from very sophisticated, almost professional market stalls, to just a small table with a box on it. And there is always a little jar in which you can leave money for that what you’ve taken from the stall. Isn’t that cute? And apparently this method works; the money is never stolen (well, almost never). I love that we still dare to trust people.

 

 

honey

the sign bottom left on the stall says Aardappelen = potatoes

 

I could have taken more photos of different little stalls, but when hubs is driving it goes something like this:

“If we see a fruit stall or something, I have to take a photo for my blog. Okay?”
”Okay.”
”There! We just passed one!”
”O.” (keeping his foot firmly on the accelerator) “Did you want to take a picture?”
”Well actually….”
(deep sigh) “Shall I turn the car?”
”No, we will probably see other ones. But I dó want to take a photo of the next one. Okay?”
”Okay.”
”There! This was one with….”
”O. Missed it.”
”Yeah, but….”
”Shall I go back? (very deep sigh)
”Hmm, no, that’s okay. But the next one…!”
”Okay.”

So these were all taken when I was driving. Except for the one with the plums. But that was only because we just passed three other ones and I was really getting almost angry with him. So he sighed again, grumbled, turned the car and drove back. Have you seen what’s on the little sign? Such fun ;-)

Thursday’s Trifles

Thursday’s Trifles are based on what I’ve read in our local newspaper: the Dagblad van het Noorden

A day late, sorry. But better late than never. Who would want to miss such important information!

What does this flower remind you of?

Each year the Flower Council of Holland organizes an election for the best office plant. This year’s winner is …tadaaaaa… the Anthurium scherzerianum or the Flamingo plant. Oh yes!
Regular Thursday’s Trifles readers will have guessed it: our fun loving newspaper editors saw an opportunity for an interesting interview with one of the members of the jury.

”Does the Flamingo plant survive a summer holiday without water?”
”No, it won’t make it.”
”Is the Flamingo plant pink?”
”Yes, it’s pink. But it can also be another colour. And with a little bit of imagination the flower (or actually the spathe) resembles a Flamingo beak.”

“Isn’t this a distinctly commercial election?”
”It is indeed an initiative of the Flower Council of Holland, but  plants are very important in offices. Especially people who do creative work perform better when there are plants in their offices.”
”In my office we have a lonely, plastic palm.”
”I would consider real plants if I were you.”
”How did the election go?”
”A jury of professionals has judged 6 candidates. Criteria were the ability to purify the air, maintenance aspects, availability and diversity, like sizes and colours. Three candidates remained.”
”And then?”
”Then thirty executive secretaries chose the Flamingo plant.”
”Executive secretaries? Is the Flamingo plant such an executive plant?”
”Not really. But the secretary often decides what goes on the desk.”
…….
”Saps of the Flamingo plant can cause skin and eye irritation.”
”Many plants are more or less poisonous. Some taste good and are eatable. You shouldn’t eat leaves of the Flamingo plant.”
”Better to bring a packed lunch from home?”
”That would be better.”

 

To censor or not to censor

The Royal Library in The Hague will put ‘Nazi newspapers’ from the Second World War on the internet. The library considers it important ‘to place the historic reality uncensored at everyone’s disposal’. Also this will open possibilities for important scientific research.
The Royal Library will be putting all newspapers from the past 400 years on the internet, freely accessible to anyone.
The problem with the newspapers from the 2nd World War who supported Nazi ideas, is that the Royal Library could be held responsible for distributing discriminating contents. Furthermore the institute can be considered an accessory to persons who will misuse these newspapers.
The department of Justice has already warned that publication of these ‘Nazi newspapers’ could be cause for the Public Prosecutor to take action.
The Royal Library is willing to take the chance and to see if the department of Justice will decide to prosecute.
CIDI (Centre Information and Documentation Israël) prefers these newspapers not to be published on the internet, but to stay in the library or for researchers to be given access to a ‘private’ website.
Eventually the Royal Library’s website will contain about 8 million newspaper pages.

An afternoon in the Wild West

Actually, from our point of view it was an afternoon in the tame East. There was a competition Western Riding going on in Nieuwe Pekela of all places. A nice opportunity for me to practice my photography.

there was a cowgirl on a Fjord horse, opening a gate

a cowgirl on an Arabian horse doing some reverse parking

a cowboy happily trotting along

a cowgirl doing something with a watering can while her horse checks out the scary thing with the saddle on it’s back

a poor lonesome cowboy

another poor lonesome cowboy

 

a lonesome cowgirl

 

another lonesome cowgirl

two happy campers who thought I was from the newspaper and wanted their picture taken (LOL)

a not so happy cowgirl

the atmosphere was very relaxed and friendly
even the horse is laughing (I’m expecting some ‘horse laugh’ comments now)

I took about 200 photos, had some nice conversations with people who explained some of the rules and regulations of Western Riding, and really enjoyed myself. I’m definitely going to visit more of these Western horse riding events. Good to practice photography.

100 things I love about the Netherlands: 4 & Go nuts, learn Dutch: 2

Things I love about the Netherlands:
our Royal Family has a delightful little weekend retreat that is called ‘Het Loo’. Well, there must be a throne somewhere in there.

I remember an English teacher, the same one who gave me my nickname Brinkbeest (don’t ask), thought it was hilarious that someone could say: “Two tickets to the Loo.” And then the next one could say: “Two tickets to the Loo too.” And that is about all I’ve remembered from what I’ve learned in school. Which explains a lot.

 

 

 

 

 

 

photo taken from here

 

Go nuts, learn Dutch:
There’s more poetry in me it seems. That first silly poem opened a whole can of worms words:

So you want to learn Dutch? 
And that’s why you’re here? 
Well, I can teach you some more. 
Some more is ‘iets meer’.

And yes, ‘meer’ rhymes with here. 
And day rhymes with ‘plee’. 
But something is wrong, 
if you spend there a day. 

Then you might need a pill .
Or perhaps even two.
Cause what we call ‘de plee’, 
is what you call the loo. 

But if you dó spend a day 
at our ‘Het Loo’, 
there’s no need for a pill. 
For ‘Het Loo’ rhymes with low.

I know, you’re confused. 
As I would have been, 
if I’d not have known,
that ‘Het Loo’ housed a Queen.

‘Het Loo’ is a palace. 
Now a museum it is, 
with gorgeous gardens. 
I’m not taking the piss.

(Pardon my French.)

Thursday’s Trifles

Thursday’s Trifles are based on what I’ve read in our local newspaper,  Dagblad van het Noorden.

A goat is not a dog

On the Dutch island Terschelling the police found a boy (aged 16) who was on a walkabout with a goat. Our fun loving newspaper editors published an interview with a police-spokesperson.

“Taking a goat for a walk after a night out is a custom typical for Terschelling?”
”I shouldn’t think so. The boy was on his way back to the campsite after a night out and he was very drunk.”
”Did you just by chance come across this guy?”
”Yes, we saw the young man standing by the roadside at three o’clock in the morning, with the goat. And we thought: ‘that does not look like a dog’. So we decided to ask him what he was doing.”
”And?”
”He was really really drunk and told us a story about him just wanting to take the goat for a walk.”
”Did he perhaps need someone to talk to?”
”Could be. He insisted that he had only borrowed the goat for a little stroll. But perhaps he wanted to steal the goat. We gave him a fine.”
”Was the guy even approachable?”
”He was in a very cheerful mood.”
”Cheerful?”
”He thought it was all a big joke. He had to laugh about everything.”
”And when you gave him the fine? Was he still laughing?”
”I imagine he’ll think twice next time he wants to take a goat for a walk.”
”How did the goat take it’s abduction?”
”Very well. The goat was cool about it. Perhaps it even enjoyed the adventure. Goats are not thát intelligent.”
”No?”
”Well, I think dogs have some intellect, but goats are quite stupid.”

 

Go nuts, learn Dutch

Our word for bicycle is ‘fiets’
Nothing in Dutch is ‘niets’
Something in Dutch is ‘iets’
And ‘straten’ in English are streets

A kiss is a ‘kus’ or a ‘zoen’
Money is ‘geld’ or even ‘poen’
Brave can be ‘dapper’ or ‘koen’
The man on the ‘maan’ is the man on the moon

Some of our words though are somewhat alike
For instance a dike or a dyke is a ‘dijk’
Although a dyke could also be ‘pot’
But if she likes men, she is not

And my ‘knie’ is your knee
(A difficult walk that will certainly be)
But you have to say ‘Knie’ and not knee without K
I know, it is hard. ‘Het valt nog niet mee.’

You’ve noticed a rhyme scheme is not part of this post
Somewhere along the way it got totally lost
And if you read that out loud, it won’t even rhyme
Some people consider that almost a crime
But I’m not a poet or ‘dichter’ you see
You can’t expect more of someone simple like me

Oolala

I sighed and rolled my eyes when after the World Championships Football, Wimbledon, the Tour de France and a very important athletics thing taking place I don’t know where, the European Championships Swimming started. And hubs had to watch every night of course. *sigh*

Until suddenly, for some mysterious reason, I saw the appeal in watching the European Championships Swimming. Fascinating sport. Glued to the television I was.

Now, why do you suppose I’m all of a sudden such a huge fan of the wonderful sport of swimming. Especially the backstroke. Something hugely appealing about that. But I just can’t figure out what it might be…

 

Camille Lacourt,
photo taken from here

100 things I love about the Netherlands 3

Appingedam

I love the picturesque places in the Netherlands. And there are plenty of them. Appingedam for instance. I’d never been to Appingedam before. No, that’s a lie. I’ve been to Appingedam once or twice, but those were work related visits and I hadn’t been to the centre of town. I knew there was something special about Appingedam though. Some of the houses built alongside the Damsterdiep (the canal) have kitchens that are hanging above the water. But I had never seen it.

So last week we went on a mission. To see the hanging kitchens of Appingedam. Something totally unlike the hanging gardens of Babylon, but sometimes you have to make do.

The people living in this gorgeous house had a very inventive idea for a terrace:

a floating one. Don’t you just love it?

And there were two kids in a boat, cruising the Damsterdiep (the canal).

Groningen and Appingedam are the only two medieval towns in the province Groningen. The city Appingedam originated around 1200 A.D.. Where two rivers crossed, the Apt and the Delf, a lively trade settlement was founded. Established by shipmasters, tradesmen and craftsmen. The name Appingedam, meaning ‘the dam built in the Appe (or Apt)’, was first mentioned in a document dated 1224.

Immediately after World War II, Appingedam’s neighbouring city of Delfzijl developed rapidly and gained the status of the third port of the Netherlands and one of the most important industrial centres in the north of the country.

In 1972 Appingedam acquired the status of a conservation area. This gave the City Council new legal and financial opportunities and they started the restoration, breathing new life into the rundown inner city. Ambitious plans to restore the historic centre of Appingedam in keeping with its unique, centuries-old identity were soon devised and implemented.

The ‘hanging kitchens’ were attached when former warehouses were transformed to houses. I couldn’t find out when this happened, but I did read that around the 17th century Appingedam lost the sort of ongoing battle with the town Groningen, that wanted all the trade Appingedam had. So I suspect that after that lost battle there was no need for the warehouses anymore and they got transformed into living accommodation. Lack of space resulted in the wooden attachments hanging over the water. Easy to get water and for dumping kitchen waste.

Thursday’s Trifles

Thursday’s Trifles are based on what I’ve read in our local newspaper, the Dagblad van het Noorden

Monkey Rugby with pacifiers

Monkey zoo Apenheul in Apeldoorn hands out pieces of string so parents with small children can tie their pacifiers to the buggies. A necessary action, because otherwise the 128 Saimiri monkeys (squirrel monkeys) that are roaming around freely, nick them.

(the Saimiri monkey in the video below is obviously looking for the real thing)

So, our fun loving newspaper editors interviewed someone from the Apenheul about this:

“Isn’t it a better idea to buy 128 pacifiers? One for each squirrel monkey?” ”We could have done that, if they do actually use the pacifiers for suckling. But they don’t.” ”What dó they do with them?” ”They see it as a sport to nick them and then they play sort of a rugby game with it. Chasing each other while trying to capture the pacifier.” ”And do they hand the pacifiers over to the keepers?” ”Not always. If only one of the monkeys has captured a pacifier, they all try to snatch it. We can usually hear from their squealing that they have something and we will try to get the object back.” ”Do they only nick pacifiers?” ”Unfortunately they nick all sorts of things. We hand out monkeyproof bags for people to put their things away safely if they walk through the part of the park where the monkeys are roaming around freely.” ”Once the pacifier of my girlfriend was stolen by one of your monkeys. Lots of tears of course!” ”That can’t have been too long ago. Perhaps we still have it.” ”Are you pulling my leg?” ”I’m only joking. Sometimes we’ll find a pacifier, but if it is somewhere high up in a tree we can’t get to it.” ”So… what sort of string is it that you are handing out?” ”We are still looking for real pacifier strings or ribbons. For now we just give the parents a piece of normal string.” ”What do the monkeys think of this?” ”They hate it! They have been demonstrating against it for days. No, wait, I’ll ask the keeper. Ah. He says they haven’t approached him about it yet.”

Quite a spectacle

A 35-year old man from Helmond (which translates to Hellmouth. Imagine living there.) has been arrested for stealing 100 spectacles from an optician’s store. He broke the window, nicked the 100 spectacles and fled the premises on his light moped. Somewhat later the police noticed the suspect sputtering away on his moped, but he ignored their stop sign. At which point one of the police officers got out of the police car, borrowed a bicycle from an innocent bystander and continued the chase by bike. The suspect was eventually stopped. He didn’t give an explanation for the theft of the spectacles and has been jailed pending further investigation.

Orang-utans give get master class gymnastics

Orang-utans in Ouwehands Dierenpark Rhenen (a Dutch zoo) will be given a master class in gymnastics Friday afternoon by Olympic gymnast Epke Zonderland. The Orang-utans have recently moved to a new accommodation, which is higher and houses 8 tree-shaped poles that go up to a height of 10 meters. Those poles are new to the Orang-utans and the apes don’t really master the art of climbing anymore. Epke will do his gymnastic exercises in an ape free zone underneath the trees, but they can see him. The zoo hopes the apes will learn the ‘tricks of the trade’ from Epke.

hospital

Yesterday morning, I was digging away in the garden, my mobile rang. In the display my mother’s mobile number appeared. My mother, who is 79 years young, doesn’t often use her mobile to phone people. And she only phones my mobile number if there is something urgent going on. So I was prepared for the worst as I picked up the phone. It wasn’t my mother on the other end. And it wasn’t my father (87 years young) either. But it was an old man. “Uh uh uh, yes yes, hello hello, this is your parent’s neighbour speaking. Your mother… (muddled speech)… hospital… (muddled)… ambulance… (muddled again)… doctor… (very muddled)… father on his bicycle… (muddled)…don’t worry… (muddled)… says could you come. But not to worry.”

So. As far as I could understand my mother was in hospital, went there by ambulance, my father followed the ambulance on his bike and I didn’t have to worry, but could I please come to the hospital. Something like that anyway. “But don’t worry, you shouldn’t worry”, the neighbour insisted again. “Okay, I won’t worry”, I assured him. “And I’m going to the hospital. Thank your for calling me.”

I told hubs, who fortunately was at home, that I had to go to my parents because apparently my mother was in hospital and left him in charge of the furry bunch at home. Now, my parents live in a town about 50 kilometres (approx. 31 miles) away from where we live. I could have gone by plane (which is what we call the Range Rover) but we recently did something very irresponsible and traded one of our other cars that we didn’t really need anymore (the one hubs dented when backing up the plane) in for this one… a Volkswagen EOS.

Much more fun. And the weather was nice. And hubs said: “take the EOS”. So I did.

But first I tried to call my father to see if he was at home yet or still at the hospital. He picked up the home phone and explained to me that my mother went to the doctor that morning, because she hadn’t been feeling well. On her way to the doctor (on her bicycle) she felt unwell again, explained to the doctor what she was feeling, he hooked her up to a machine to register what her heart was doing, noticed something alarming, ordered an ambulance and she was rushed off to hospital. The doctor’s assistant called my father, who jumped on his bike and cycled to the hospital too. My father doesn’t drive a car anymore, because he is partially blind. He only has 60% vision in one eye. And that is his good eye.
On his way to the hospital, he cycled passed the doctor’s office and saw the ambulance driving off.

Neighbours of my parents coincidentally were in the waiting room of the doctor’s office and saw my mother being rushed out, into the ambulance. Then they saw my 87-year old half blind father on his bike in pursuit of the ambulance. Since the woman had to see the doctor she stayed behind, but the man jumped in his car and followed the ambulance and my cycling father.
(Can you see why in my mind this is a funny image? I see a slapstick movie in the making.)

In the hospital my parents were surprised to see their neighbour and thought his wife had been admitted too. He explained that he had been worried about my mother and wanted to know what was going on. My mother, who will never give up control, asked him if he wanted to go to their house to call my mobile phone with her mobile phone. Because her mobile phone knows my mobile phone’s number. And my father doesn’t know how to use a mobile and can’t see what name or number comes up in the display anyway. And that is why my mother’s number came up in my mobile phone, but it was the neighbour who was calling.

So I went on my way to the hospital. You have to pay for parking at the parking lot of the hospital. I took a ticket from the dispenser, the barrier went up and I parked my car. Did the neat trick in which the roof appears from the boot to cover the car again and walked into the hospital. The lady at the reception desk told me I could find my mother at cardiology. So I went up to her room. But my mother wasn’t there. “They are doing some tests now”, the nurse explained. “She’ll be back soon.”
And indeed, soon after they wheeled a bed with my vomiting mother in it back into the room and hooked her up to the monitor again. “She had to cycle to see how her heart would react to that, but she passed out, so we don’t know anything yet”, the nurse said. “We’ll have to wait for the cardiologist now.”
A while later the cardiologist came and said: “Since you passed out on the bike, we don’t have a result for that test, so if you agree we want to do a cardiac catheterisation to see if your arteries are blocked. We’d like to do that today, but I’m not sure when there is a possibility available yet. We will know more about that in about an hour.”
My mother said “okay” to the doctor and to me “you can go to our home now and tell dad.”
And that is what I did.

My father made tea, the whole neighbourhood already knew my mother was in hospital so a couple of people stopped by and a couple of others telephoned, and then my father and I went to the hospital again to see if they knew something more about when they would do the catheterisation. Again I took a ticket from the dispenser, the barrier went up and I parked the car. I have to tell you, an EOS and a 87-year old man are not a good combination. Getting into the car wasn’t such a problem, but getting out of it…. The EOS is quite low to the ground so you have to sort of hoist yourself to an upright position again. Even hubs and I, relatively young and agile, haven’t mastered to do that elegantly yet.

But dad and I eventually made it out of the car (another slapstick movie) and we went to see my mother. It was about three o’clock in the afternoon by then and there was no news yet about whether my mother would be catheterised that afternoon and if, at what time.

Since my parent’s landline phone wasn’t working properly anymore after it had been dropped on the floor a while ago, my mother sent my father and me to the shops to buy a new phone. So I could program the new phone with the telephone numbers of their friends and family. Typically my mother, lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to all sorts of monitors, very unwell, but still directing everyone around her. She even told the nurse to go see a man a couple of beds further down, because my mother thought he needed some attention. I mean… what?!

So my dad and I sank ourselves into the car again and went to the shops to buy a new phone.
We took the phone to their home, installed it, I programmed in the numbers while my father opened the door to everyone who wanted to know how my mother was doing and then we made ourselves something to eat. My mobile phone rang. It was the nurse who told me that my mother had been taken to the treatment room for the catheterisation. She said it would probably take an hour and a half. The nurse would call me when my mother was brought back to the room.

An hour later the nurse called: “She’s back, they’ve found absolutely nothing wrong with her arteries. They are exceptionally clean for a woman of her age. But she must lie down for two hours now.”
“Can she come home then? Or do you want to keep her for observation?”
”I don’t know yet. The cardiologist will have to visit first and then we will know more.”

My father made coffee, a couple of people called again how my mother was doing and I packed a bag for her in case she should have to stay in hospital overnight. At about eight o’clock my father and I lowered ourselves into the EOS again and drove to the hospital. For the third time that day I took a ticket from the dispenser, the barrier went up and I parked the car. I hoisted my father from the depths of the EOS and we went to see my mother.

She wasn’t in her bed. “What have you done with her?”, I asked the nurse. “Don’t worry. She went to the toilet and you can take her home”, she laughed.
”Oh. Well. In that case I will have to take my father home first and then come back for my mother.”
(I know the EOS has a backseat, but neither my father nor my mother are contortionists and getting in and out of the front passenger’s seat already proved to be quite an undertaking. I didn’t want to run the risk of my father not being able to get out of the car again. He would have to be the one who’d have to fold himself onto the backseat. All kinds of scenarios went through my head. Having a vivid imagination can be quite fun.)
So I brought my father home and went back to the hospital to get my mother.

For the fourth time that day I took a ticket from the dispenser, the barrier went up and I parked the car. The parking lot was almost empty by that time, so I could park close to the front entrance of the hospital. Thinking it would be convenient.
I had been instructed to get a wheelchair (you can ‘hire’ one for a deposit of two Euros) because my mother wasn’t allowed to walk too far yet. So I got a wheelchair, took the thing upstairs, collected my mother who still had a needle in her hand that had to be removed first, which took some time because the nurse was attending to another patient and then my mother told her a long story about a man who had been lying dead for 10 days in his apartment in the building where my parents live and then we finally could leave the hospital.
I wheeled her to the front entrance of the hospital. Closed!
After half past eight people had to use the side entrance to get in and out of the hospital. This isn’t a huge, but still a big hospital and it was quite a long walk back to the side entrance. I had already checked if I had to pay parking charges, but since I had only been there for a short while this time, the machine told me I could leave without paying. But I had to drive out of the parking lot within 10 minutes. So I speeded up a little, with my mother in the wheelchair hanging on for dear life. The side entrance came in sight. I raced my mother through it, parked her on the sidewalk, said: “Sit! And Stay!” (years of dog training came in handy) and ran half a marathon to the front entrance, to my car, jumped in and raced towards the side entrance of the hospital. Couldn’t get to it, because for that entrance there is another parking lot and there were all sorts of barriers between both parking lots. So I parked the car as close to the side entrance as I could get, crawled out and ran slaloming around the barriers to my mother who was still patiently waiting in her wheelchair. “I’ll walk to the car, YOU put the wheelchair back”, my mother dictated. And my mother took off at snails pace while I put the wheelchair back and collected my two Euros again. I caught up with my mother who was halfway to the car, walked slowly with her and helped her in. Then I jumped into the driving seat and raced back around the parking lot towards the exit. With only a minute left I put the card into the machine and hooray… the barrier went up and I could leave the parking lot for the last time that day. Phew.

I brought my mother home, drank a cup of coffee, called a couple of people to tell them that mother had returned to base camp, explained to my mother how the new phone worked and drove home myself. Pooped!

This afternoon I’ve called my parents to see how my mother was feeling and she is tired, but okay. So. That was that! But should there be a next time (I hope not), I’ll definitely take the plane.

100 things I love about the Netherlands: 2

Folkloric costumes

all photos will enlarge if you click on them

You all know the Netherlands from the windmills (100 things I love about the Netherlands: 1), tulips and wooden clogs. And of course we all wear folkloric costumes *).
This map of the Netherlands, our newspaper was kind enough to publish last Wednesday, shows you which folkloric costumes are worn where in the Netherlands. Oh, and another thing, it is the Netherlands (we Dutch just say Nederland. And we are not Dutch, we are Nederlanders, but you can call us Dutch, not to be confused with Duits, because they are Germans from Germany, which we call Duitsland. Confused?).
Holland is only the western part of the Netherlands. Roughly under no. 2 ‘Marken’ and no. 7 ‘Volendam’ the province North-Holland is hidden. And the part somewhere between no. 4 ‘Scheveningen’, no. 7 Volendam and no. 1 ‘Spakenburg’ is South-Holland. (I’ll do a separate post about the provinces one day, because that is another thing I love about the Netherlands.)

The map and people on it are obviously exactly to scale **). Our country is so small that we Dutch simply are too big for it. Some people just have to keep one foot in the water all day. Or even two feet if they live in Marken. Tough luck.

The local attire people in Volendam (no. 7) wear is probably the most well-known costume and associated with the windmills and the tulips. But different provinces have different folk costumes.

I live in the North-Eastern part of the Netherlands, the province Groningen.
And yes, that is what I wear all day every day ***).

The numbered places in this map are the villages or regions where some people actually still wear their local attire. But it’s a fast disappearing fashion. In Staphorst (no. 5) about 700 people wear folkloric costumes daily. All of them are women. Bunschoten/Spakenburg (no. 1) is second on the list of places where people still wear their local folkloric costume. For about 400 women it is their daily attire. Both villages are very religious.

Once I saw a small car, filled to the brim with four Spakenburg ladies. They are easily recognizable, because of their huge shoulder pads. And I’ve seen women from Staphorst shopping in a modern shopping centre near where I live. I love to see those women in totally out of context places. Their colourful clothes, in a sea of dull jeans, brighten up your day.

This was where I had enclosed a YouTube video of a reversed striptease that shows the Sunday look of the women in Zeeland (no. 8, showing a bride and groom). Forget getting (un)dressed quickly. But Blogger disagreed with me about a couple of things, so I decided to remove it. And it was kind of tedious too actually, but if you really want to see it: this is the link.

Hubs has clogs too.

He never wears them though. I used to wear clogs when I was about 6 or so. According to my mother they are very good for your feet. Uhuh. I’ve never seen hér wearing wooden shoes. Hubs’s clogs are the new and improved version of the original wooden shoe. These ones have a leather strap where the instep of his foot otherwise would have touched the wood. And I can assure you from experience, it takes a hell of a long time for your foot to get insensitive to that feeling of wood touching instep every time you lift your foot. But once you’ve worked your way through half the apothecary’s plasters stock and formed some hard skin , they are really comfortable. And you can drop things on your toes without feeling it. Everything has it’s plus side I guess. And that is why I love wooden shoes (not really).
I told hubs about my experience with wooden shoes, but he wanted to be ‘the farmer’ and ignored my good advice not to embark upon the painful journey of wearing them in/’adjusting’ his feet. He bought clogs, wore them for about two days and they are now gathering dust, providing comfortable living space for some spiders.

The well worn sneaker on the right is mine. Quite a difference eh? And you should feel my insteps now. Very soft.

*) no we don’t

**) if you believe that, you’ll believe anything

***) that is true of course ;-)

Thursday’s Trifles

Thursday’s Trifles are based on what I’ve read in our local newspaper Dagblad van het Noorden

Crabzilla

Sea Life Scheveningen will be the new home for a Japanese Giant Spider Crab, or Giant Japanese Spider Crab, whichever you prefer, with a leg span of 3.5 meters (11.5 feet). It weighs 15 kilos. This spider crab was caught in the Pacific Ocean at the end of last year.

Of course the DvhN considered this to be a wonderful subject for an interview with someone from Sea Life Scheveningen:

“Who will be Crabzilla’s new housemates?”
”He will live together with thornback rays, spotted rays, blond rays, tub gurnards, seabass, dogfish and catfish in a 30,000 liter aquarium.
”Are his new housemates psychologically prepared yet?”
”That will be a bit difficult to do. But this crab may look dangerous; it isn’t. Normally it scavenges around on the bottom of the sea for ‘leftovers’. It doesn’t run around hunting for live food. On the contrary. He won’t hurt a fly fish.”
……
”Can he predict the football results?” (referring to psychic squid Paul)
”There is no need for that now the World Championships are over.”
”How does one transport a broadloom crab?”
”Simply in a refrigerated truck. He is only broadloom when he is stretched out, but that is not his natural position.”
”So you won’t have to fold him?”
”No no, usually his legs are bent.”
”Can he expect any female visitors?”
”I wouldn’t think so. Even though females are smaller than males, it will get a bit crowded in the aquarium. He must be able to tramp about in his new home.”

 

Reverse parking challenge championships for women

On the 17th of September the first Reverse Parking Championships For Women will be held in Antwerp (Belgium). It is open for women from the Benelux (Belgium, Netherlands, Luxembourg) and is organized by car rental company Hertz.

 

I’m sorry I don’t have more entertaining or weird news for you this week. Hopefully next week…

This is not a recipe for boneless chickens

Look Gertrude! That bone looks much tastier than this one…

 

Let’s try to get some of that.                                Be careful Gertrude.

If we just pretend to look for something else…        Ooo, tasty little thingy we’ve found here…

I don’t think this one wants to share with us Gertrude. Let’s try the other dog over there…

 

Hi there dog. Wanna share?

Rude animals those dogs. This one just ignores us.

If I go this way…                          

 

…you might be able to sneak around him from the other side. Stay low!

   

Gertrude, I don’t think our plan works.                  Perhaps if I try from this side…

…or from this side…                                           I’m getting close now…

Yep! Did it! Quick, come over here…                     Did you get something? 
                                                                          Yeah, but it wasn’t worth all the effort.

 

Let’s go lay an egg…                       (Did I hear egg? Ooo yummy!)