So…

…here I am and here you are. And they say coincidence doesn’t exist .

I promised some of you a story about a concert we went to, which was about the only blogworthy thing that happened in the past few months. Apart from me breaking my wrist that is of course. Perhaps I’ll tell you all the fun things surrounding that event later.

First the story about the concert. Not an exciting story mind you. I just want to share that wonderful evening with you.

One Friday evening a friend telephoned: ‘we’re going to a concert on the lake tomorrow. We’re sailing the boat to the lake tomorrow morning, will moor it in the harbour near the yacht club and then at around 6 in the evening we’re sailing towards the podium they’ve built on the other side of the lake. Like to join us?’

‘Yeaheah, of course we’re joining you. Thanks for inviting us. Who else is coming?’ She mentioned a couple of people we (hubs and I) knew too. It promised to be an evening to remember.

So well before 6 o’clock that Saturday evening we were at the harbour, found the boat and were greeted by our friends. Everybody had brought a couple of bottles of wine, except for one guy who had brought 4 cases of 6 bottles; 2 cases of red and 2 cases of white wine. He must have been thirsty. It promised to be an evening we wouldn’t remember.

So we set off to the other side of the lake, where a floating podium had been built on the lake and where the Haydn Youth Orchestra would give a concert with guest appearances of students of the local conservatory and singer Izaline Calister (she sings a jazzy kind of South American style of music).

Can’t tell you how lovely that evening was. We drank wine (not the entire shipload mind you), ate quiches, French cheeses and bread, Turkish bread and hummus, salads…

I hadn’t brought my camera because of my physical incapability to shoot photos anyway, but fortunately hubs has an i-Phone (research has been done to find out what people use their phones for and amazingly actually phoning someone was only 5th on the list) and he took some photos I can show you. 

The podium was built on a part of the lake that is surrounded on three sides by apartment buildings and some of the balconies had small groups of conservatory students on them who gave their own mini-concerts, woven into the main musical event.

 

All kinds of small boats (big ones don’t have access to this lake) were still arriving…

The concert was wonderful, the youth orchestra played some really beautiful classical pieces, Izaline sang and had everyone dancing (who knew Dutch hips could swing like that), a really fat bloke who had one drink too many fell from the boat next to us (not in one of the photos sadly) into the fortunately shallow water and kept swinging, hands in the air, up to his armpits in the lake, as if nothing had happened.

It was such a pleasant evening and when the concert ended late that night it was still exceptionally warm and we sailed back to the harbour, looking back to where the concert was…

i laughed

 

a friend came to visit the poor patient with the broken wrist (me) and brought her two eldest daughters (8 and 4) and the, also 8 year old, boyfriend of the eldest with her. the boyfriend introduced himself to hubs: ‘hello, i’m connor.’
’hi connor’, said hubs. ‘so you are amy’s boyfriend?’
’yes’, connor nodded, ‘and i’m very good at it!’

 

mozes and biggles are friends too

Inspirational and weird

So, remember I said that nothing blogworthy happened here? Well… still nothing blogworthy actually happened here. But! Karen posted something very blogworthy and truly amazing and that reminded me of a story our farrier told. But first you have to hop over to Karen to see what she posted. I’ll wait patiently until you’re back here… pom pom pom… pom de pom de pom pom pom…

So… what did you think of that then? Weird non?

Now, here’s the story our farrier told me yesterday. I’ll tell you the story using his voice. Imagine a deep manly voice here: “Last week I was driving to a client. The sky was heavily overcast. At one point the clouds opened up to let the sun shine through and that hole in the clouds… that hole… it had exactly the shape of a shark! (*)

(I have to tell you something first. Our farrier often experiences things that later explain themselves. For instance: he and a couple of his friends went on a short vacation to Portugal. They had rented an apartment, but there weren’t enough bedrooms. He didn’t want to share a bed with one of his friends so he volunteered to sleep on the couch for those couple of nights. And while he lay on that couch, trying to get some sleep, he got to intimately know the rough stones the living room wall was made of. And one of those stones had the shape of the back of the head of a guy with a band of hair above his ears but the top of his head was bald (are you imagining that picture?). So he thought that it was weird that one of these stones so clearly had this very recognizable shadowy shape in it. And the incredibly stunning end of that story was that on the flight back to the Netherlands, a guy in the seat in front of him was the spitting image of the shape in the wall of the living room in the apartment! And every time farrier visits us, he tells a similar story. So I knew that an explanation of the shark-shaped hole in the clouds would follow. Either one day in the future, or perhaps it had explained itself already.)

“Wow!”, I said. “A shark shaped hole! Weird. And are you expecting an explanation for this weird occurrence?”

”That’s what I thought. We were going out for dinner that evening, so I thought that there would be fried shark on the menu, or something like that. But no! In fact, at that point I was on my way to Dr. Sharky (*). Hehehehehe (he giggles like a girl).

We both giggled like a girl in fact. Because it was a weird coincidence and I thought it was funny too. But now Karen posted her shape in the sky and it makes me think. I’m going to keep a good eye on the sky tomorrow and my camera within reach. Because this coincidence will explain itself. I’m sure. Pretty sure at least.

(*) I had to translate the name of Dr. Sharky who is actually called Dr. Haaier, because a shark is ‘haai’ in Dutch. So the farrier saw a hole in the shape of a ‘haai’ and he was on his way to Dr. Haaier. Confused? You will be, after the next episode of SOAP. (Remember SOAP? Loved that show. Not that it has anything to do with the above story.)

Army adventures: part 2

See for part 1 the previous post.

So, there we were. Driving up and down Vanessa (you should really read part 1) and having fun, still keeping Bob pretty clean and alive (I can only repeat that you should read part 1), when we saw this car coming towards us:

We know the guy behind the wheel, he'd invited us to this event, and he clearly didn’t give a shit (if you’re offended, I’m sorry) about keeping his car clean. Perhaps the fact that this isn’t really his car, but it is owned by Landrover had something to do with that. Anyway, who cares. They clearly were having fun. He’d brought his sons to the event and kept them in the back of the car. Obviously there were no health-and-safety-people around. I mentioned to Landrover guy that it was perhaps a little dangerous to keep the kids in the open back of the car without seatbelts, but he answered: “Don’t worry, they are holding on tight.” Which was true.

So they ‘did’ Vanessa a couple of times too:

…and had a lot of fun. Just like these guys who were thrilled to see that I was taking photos:

…and these people who kept their van together with what looked like a huge elastic band:

And then the entire Dutch army turned up to see if everything was okay:

(Just joking: this isn’t the entire Dutch army. In case you were planning to invade us. I’m pretty sure there are more people involved in keeping our country safe.)

And then we moved on, into the woods again, to find another exciting spot for me to take photos. We arrived at another muddy patch and I was just getting ready to get out of the car and take some shots of cars driving through it, when suddenly we saw a good friend of us (who owns a couple of Landrovers too and does this sort of off-the-road driving more often) driving towards us in one of the cars owned by Landrover. He took one look at our sparkling clean Bob, saw that we were driving around in totally the wrong gear (not in dif.lock, tut tut) shook his head, got out of his car, almost dragged hubs out of Bob, jumped in, put Bob in dif.lock and before I knew what was happening we drove off.
Fortunately I had the presence of mind to immediately start taking photos:

Well… and when we came back to where hubs was left standing, friend jumped out off Bob, shoved hubs into the Landrover he was driving around the terrain, and off they went:

…and back they came. The spot where all the other cars have gathered, is a place where almost everyone got stuck and had to be winched out, much to the amusement of the people watching.
We didn’t dare to drive through that mud pit. And fortunately friend didn’t either.

So, when friend was satisfied with Bob’s muddy state, he went his way again and we went ours. Back home, because it was time to leave all the excitement behind and take care of the furry bunch.

Aww… he didn’t get to play.

Army adventures: part 1

Years ago when hubs bought his first Landrover, he got an invitation for a one-day-off-the-road-driving-course. He came back with lots of great stories, about being able to touch the grass through the open window when the car was parked sideways on a steep slope, driving through water, driving up steep hills and off them again. He did have a great day.

Then I bought my Landrover, Bob, and I too got an invitation for such a course. Since I knew it would be a great day, not to be missed, I called a friend and asked if she wanted to join me on a fun day out. And so we went into the woods to learn how to drive up a slope. Landrover have a special truck, that unfolds into what looks like a Canadian wooden lodge, and acts as a bar/restaurant. They also employ some good looking rugged men to teach you how to drive through the wilderness in cars owned by Landrover, so your own car will not get dirty and/or dented. Friend and I had a great day. And indeed, we touched grass through the open window of a Range Rover while parked sideways on an extremely steep slope. All very exciting. What made it even more exciting, friend needs glasses to drive a car and see where she’s going, but because of the handsome Landrover guys she didn’t want to spoil her good looks by hiding them behind those glasses, which meant that half of the time she was driving the car in braille-mode. Not a clue where she was going. Sometimes the driving-instructor would scream things like: “What the…!?! Where are you… ?!?”, but she kept her cool and didn’t mention her blindness. And I was just trying not to wet my pants from the combination of fear and laughter.

Of course, with the Netherlands being asphalted over almost entirely, after that one day I’ve never driven a car through any wilderness, apart from our garden, again.

But, last Sunday we had the opportunity to join a whole bunch of 4x4 car enthusiasts and drive our Bob through army-training terrain. Where usually tanks and soldiers play war, we could freely drive up and down especially constructed hills and through water, without the risk of being shot at.

And we loved it. We did start very carefully, saying that we wanted to keep Bob clean, but secretly just not having a clue how to keep Bob alive in the more challenging parts of the terrain. These guys do this more often…

And as always ‘bachelor's wives and maiden's children are well trained’ or as we say in the Netherlands: ‘de beste stuurlui staan aan wal’ (the best helmsmen are on shore).

The fanclub:

We declined an offer of one of the guys there to drive Bob for us through this mud pit, because I’d just heard him jokingly say that he’d already lost 4 cars in this pool. So, with Bob still clean and alive, we drove further into the woods, looking for two hills known by the army as ‘Vanessa’ (after a Dutch ‘singer’ who has two strong points and singing isn’t one of them).
Since I was navigating, it didn’t take us long to find Vanessa. It could have taken even less time, but hubs has a mind of his own and didn’t always follow my instructions *sigh*.

Vanessa was very popular:

(not hubs and not Bob either)

This looked like fun and also doable, so hubs drove Bob up a smaller hill and through this ditch a couple of times and then I got into the car too to take some shots while we were driving up…

…and down…

This is Bob:

This is one of my favourite photos. Aww…   

And then we saw a couple of guys we know from the Landrover dealer and also a friend of us, and from then on everything went pretty much downhill for Bob’s cleanliness.

To be continued…

The adventures of Stupid Woman

Last Saturday I had arranged with a friend to go to Groningen to do some really girly shopping. You know: buy clothes, try every perfume in the store, have lunch, giggle a lot, jog past chocolate selling shops, high fiving if we succeeded in doing that, those sort of things.

She lives in FarFarAwayLand (not that far away though, about half an hour in the car) and the plan was that she’d drive to our house and then I’d drive us into town with, and now you’re going to frown and think: “what a snob”, one of our cars. But I mention our assorted choice of cars for a reason.

You see, we have a Landrover Defender. Great car, joy to drive (if you like the occasional near-heart attack from loud bangs caused by stones that shoot out of the tires and bang against the wheel house, and enjoy feeling every bump in the road going from butt through spine to head), but it doesn’t fit particularly well in the average parking garage. Either the ceiling of the parking garage is too low, or Bob is too high.
So, as much as I like Bob, he’s not for going into town with.

Then there’s Gretl, our Range Rover. Incredibly comfortable, quite chic (if you ignore the fact that I often use it to get huge bags of carrots and other big bags of horse feed which inevitably leave a trail of… well, carrots and horse feed on the cream coloured carpet) and a great car for going shopping with. It can hold tons of bags, but it is wide and long and not a joy to drive around in in a crowded parking garage, looking for a space to squeeze the beast into.

Oh, and if you’re wondering why she’s called Gretl; there are two language options in her inbuilt GPS. German or English. We’ve tried English for a while, but she assumes that your driving on the wrong side of the road then and it became very confusing at times, so we changed to German and now we’re brushing up on German ‘verkehrsbezogene Begriffe’. Oder so etwas.

Anyway, the car of choice was therefore our smaller car. It’s a hard top convertible. Fast, good-looking and more importantly, it easily fits in a parking garage. This car is nice to drive in in the summer, with the top open (it does this incredibly neat magic trick in which it lets its roof disappear in the boot. That is almost the best part of this car, the roof/no roof magic trick. It never fails to amaze me.) and nice to drive in the winter, with the top closed.

 

The only problem was that we hadn’t driven it for a week or so, and as you know it was freezing cold here in the Netherlands and we don’t have a garage so it had been outside in the cold and the door on the passenger’s side was frozen shut.
Fortunately I had expected that that might be the case, so about an hour before friend was supposed to arrive here I put on a coat and thick, warm gloves and went outside to clear the windscreen and the other windows of ice, tried the doors, discovered that the one on the passenger’s side didn’t open and phoned hubs’ mobile (he was mucking the stables) with my mobile (I didn’t feel like walking to the stables to tell him) that I was going for a drive to see if the door-in-ice would thaw. It was either that or rolling out a couple of patch cables and attack the door with my hair/blow dryer. I chose the driving around option.

So there I went. It still was bitterly cold outside, but I was comfortably warm in my winter coat with the nice, thick gloves protecting my hands from the arctic temperatures. So I drove through a neighbouring village where another friend lives, waved as I passed their house and took a scenic route back home again. Meanwhile the car was warming up nicely. Heated seat doing its job to keep the posterior at a nice temperature, windows ice free inside and outside. I had good hope that the other door would be freed from the layer of ice that kept it firmly shut.

I parked the car in front of the house. And when I wanted to get out, I couldn’t open my door! I mean, w h a t ? Had ‘my’ door somehow been frozen shut too while I was driving around? But could that be possible? I tried again. No. Didn’t open. I tried the door on the passenger’s side. No. Didn’t open either. What in the name of Elvis caused these doors to stay closed? I pressed the distant control a couple of times to close and open the locks, but that didn’t help. Both doors stayed shut. I was baffled. And puzzled. Dumbfounded even.

And then I remembered that I had my mobile with me.
So I phoned hubs. “Yes?”
”Hi.”
”Hi?”
”I have a tiny problem.”
”Oh?”
”I can’t get out of the car.”
”You can’t get out of the car.”
”No.”
”Oh.”
”So…”
”Why can you not get out of the car?”
”The door won’t open.”
”Oh?”
”Hmm.”
”Where are you?”
”In our drive.”
*sigh* “Okay, I’m coming.”
”Don’t sigh.”
”I didn’t sigh.”
”I definitely heard… okay.”

He apparently wasn’t in a hurry to free me from my car-prison, because it took ages before he appeared. He had a vicious smile on his face I thought.
He opened the door from the outside.
”What do you mean, I can’t get out of the car.”
”No really. I couldn’t open the door from the inside.”
I got out of the car and he got in.
I closed the door, thinking that it would be really funny if he would be locked inside now.
But no, of course he wasn’t, because he knew that there is a tiny switch just in front of the door handle on the inside of the car, that locks or unlocks it independently from the distant control. Why? I don’t know why it has that switch. I never even knew of its existence. And I had unintentionally pressed it into the ‘lock’ setting when I tried to open the door with my hands comfortably nestled in my very thick gloves.

You learn something every day.

And the short drive had indeed unfrozen the other door, so when friend arrived we could both get in (and out) of our pretty little convertible with the not idiot proof lock/unlock switch.

Gawd.

Hubs thought it was all incredibly funny.
I don’t get his sense of humour.
It is totally wrong!

I’m the Queen

But only in the land of the blind that is called ‘Photography’, where some friends of mine live and in which I’m the one-eyed woman. It is lonely at the top, so I’ve written a short and simple photography course, very aptly titled ‘In the land of the blind…’, for my loyal subjects, who each recently acquired a nifty digital SLR camera and hadn’t a clue what to do with it other than taking photos using the automatic setting. But that is not why someone buys a camera with lots and lots and then even more lots of possibilities.

Yesterday one of these friends came here to practice her photography skills together with the Queen herself. Ahum. We called it: Lesson One – Aperture, and while enjoying a cup of tea and some homemade cookies (made by hubs who is the King in the land of the blind that is called cookie-baking), I explained the difference in aperture settings and focus, with the emphasis on a small F number for close-ups and then we went into the garden to see if my explanation had made any sense at all. The weather was perfect. Very sunny (and very cold too, but it is winter) and dry.

I haven’t seen her photos yet, but these are some of the shots I took myself. And apparently I do know what I’m talking about. The only thing is… have I been able to explain it well enough to someone else? I can’t wait to see her shots.

F5.6, focus on the first apple.

 

F5.6, focus on the second apple.

See the difference?

 

We did the same exercise, using the fence around our field as a subject.

I know. You’re amazed.

 

My kingdom has many gates and fences. Here’s another one. Nice, non? Looks like the head of little guy with a pointy hat. A small gate-keeper perhaps?

On our photohunt in the garden, Mozes, one of my loyal subjects from my other country ‘Furrytailland’, followed us around, hoping to convince us that he would be a magnificent subject for a photo or two.

Doing the look-at-me-I’m-a-gorgeous-cat-stare at friend who ignored him, because she was taking photos of a tree. I couldn’t resist of course.

He then did the look-at-me-I-can-climb-a-tree-and-descend-elegantly-too-trick.

“Did you get that?”

“Good. I can climb a tree with two paws in my nose of course. Easy-peasy.”

“I’m pretty comfy here. Might stay here for a while.”

“Did you see how high up I was?”

“Wait! What’s that I see?!”

So I looked what he had spotted and it was a deer! And I had my camera with me. That only happened once before. I often see deer. I often have my camera with me. But only once before I’ve seen a deer and had my camera with me. Hopefully next time I will have my 70-300mm lens on my camera in stead of my 17-85mm. But hey, you can’t have everything. And besides. Where would you keep it all.