To Wine or Not to Wine

I sincerely believe that a glass of wine a night makes all things right. Take today for example. After a 10 hour long flight from a warm and sunny Saint Martin, we landed at 6 am and were home at 9. Immediately kids were hungry, and I came to the rescue with pancakes having thought about it at the airport already and having bought the ingredients. In my semi sterile approach to travel, I shoved the kids in the bath to wash off whatever they were carrying after a couple of airports, floors, cafes, seats etc. Having done that, thrown myself into a pile of laundry so big it actually has its own postbox at our top floor. Laundry = ironing. The old fashioned way of actually ironing kids underpants! But I still do it...After a quick nap (kids 2 hours, me 30 min), the alarm rang and I could feel my body resisting with all its might to never ever get up. Whilst semi awake having horrible dreams about death (my body's way of telling me to get the hell out of bed), getting up and doing more ironing. Waking the kids up, dragging them to the butchers, birthday shop and supermarket to get all cooked for tonight and for backtoschoolhavingmissedmybirthday celebration tomorrow. Once back home, dinner for kids and us on the stove, plus double chocolate muffins (!) (Double!) on the go. Once everyone fed, muffins done, back to ffffing ironing as Kristian leaves tomorrow and although I doubt he will need his summer shirts, I still iron them. This having had in between Mama! Mama! Mama! I want an apple! Mama! Luka hit me! Mama! Anna wont let me in her room! Mama! I need the toilet! Mama! I want to play! Mama! You are not listening! And I thought I would have time to go to work today!!! Ha! And now, its quiet, and I have my wine. That is all.

One life in One country

Reading an article of one of Russia's most famous current director, Aleksei Balabanov has got me thinking. This is a man that has created many movies, written many stories and won many hearts. He probably angered just as many as he won to be honest. And he talks about a concept of " Where you are born, there you are useful ". He is convinced that a man should live in his country, be amongst his people, speak his mother tongue. He speaks of migration as terrible problem, mentions people from Suriname coming to the Netherlands to live and settling there without being able to work, to do anything and live on the social support of the country. He talks of markets in Russia, where the produce isn't sold by little old Russian ladies but by immigrants from various places. You can feel his frustration and his overwhelming pride and unquestioned love for his country i.e Russia. And I ask myself, do I miss something? Am I lost without this certain identity that a country gives one? Having been living on a suitcase most of my life, I ask, what could have been different had I stayed in one place, been resident of one country regardless of which, would I dream of the fields, of the cityscapes, of the people, of the culture, the traditions? How much would it have mattered? Do we become nomads through circumstances or through the character that we possess and were born with? And I wonder, what is important for my children who share 5 passports between the 2 of them. What identity would they have? What does this phrase that I hear so often nowadays " Children or citizens of the world" mean? Is it just an excuse for the parents to move from place to place under this overused slogan and not feel guilty about dragging their kids from one environment to the next? Or does it stand true to the literal meaning, that every child or adult will feel at home wherever they go? Because that is what it says, that we would feel at home wherever we go. So in our sporadic moves and migrations, do we follow our hearts and instincts that were given to us at birth, or do we follow our heads and the endless search and quest for, be it knowledge or material wealth ? What do my children need from me, what do they need from the adults? And I am not talking about love , that is a given. When does a child flourish, live life, love life. I wonder. And I hope I shall not be mistaken in my decisions about their life now and in the years to come. I know what moving has done for me. Much of it is hugely positive. Yet there is always that one small issue of home. Where is home? Is a home a room that you had a child with all your things and memories stashed gently away? Not for me, as I have very little attachment if any for the material element, another side effect of continuous change in geographical location. Is home where your parents live? No as it is a house where I have never lived. Is home where I myself presently live now? It is within the four walls that we are in, but once outside, home disappears like a hidden secret not to be seen by anyone. I live with the total conviction that I will always move from where I presently am. That is probably the price I paid for all the wonderful adventures that have taken me around the world and brought me my closest people. Is it something that I wish for my children? I am not sure, not sure at all.

Obsession

What a beautiful word: Obsession. If you go for the synonyms, it is a fancy, a must, a neurosis, a compulsion. Can you think of what is yours? Be honest with yourself and tell yourself. What is your Obsession? Everyone has always told me my job was my "neurosis" , a workaholic, everyone told me. But my obsession has always been to be happy. So shallow, so simple. I draw on the environment around me and go with my gut. My instinct tells me to go ONE particular way and I follow it. But how hard it is to be happy in a situation that does not allow for that. Then you make happiness happen, which is extremely sad and oh so fake. It is the most dangerous of addictions as I have experienced. The partying, the drinking, the lovers, the husband, the money, the cars, the dinners. Anything to even tickle the happiness nerve. The obsession that did not allow failure.
Obsession at the moment, still remains to be my happiness. But it has a twist. The twist is that I am happy by genuinely loving and giving to the two most important people. I am obsessed by making sure Anna has the most amazing day, that she learns in that day, that she eats her vegetable soup, that she kisses me good night at the end of the day. I am obsessed with giving love and care to my man. That he feels worthy, and proud to be here with me. I choose positive obsession. Is it a new term? I don't know. Please think and ponder upon your obsession. Is it work? Is it weight? Is it money? Is it image? Is it fake?

An evening of my own

Once in a life time I have an evening where the only guest is me, myself, and I. Shmuck (the cat) is sleeping next to me, at times giving one of those full hearted stretches that makes you want to be a cat. I sit here, with my glass full of a heavy red spanish wine from Jumilla region. Why I chose this particular wine this evening, I do not know, but it goes oh so well with my Dutch cheese crackers and some white peaches from Spain.
Tell me my friend, how many evenings do you have that you can say "I did exactly what I wanted". Once you have a family, or a relationship, everything is determined by the word "us". So actually doing something by yourself is a bit frustrating. Should I be sitting down, doing absolutely nothing, munching on so so food and drinking fabulous wine? Ironing to be done, dishwasher to be emptied, bed to be made. Really? Does that guilt feeling creep up on you when you do absolutely nothing ? Today, I am lucky, I have no such feeling. I am taking it all in. Crap English cooking or redecorating series, dont care. TV series are just background noise. Just half-watched a series about prematurely born babies that i downloaded. Wrong choice for an evening entertainment, I was in tears throughout. So if you do have an evening on your own, DO NOT choose anything about children, climate, politics, or dangerous sports. Choose something lighthearted. Like yet another braindead comedy with Jennifor Aniston (I had no idea she was 62 years old!). Old girls can still have fun after all, according to her. A bottle of wine, or two, some easy food that doesnt require any more skill other then cutting, a good sofa, a loved one that keeps messaging you because he doesnt want to appear rude to his friend and actually call me. Call me lucky. Call me boring. Call me anything. I am happy. Are you ?

A Spring full of Frogs

Never have I heard a chorus as complete as what we hear every single night outside our bedroom. It starts just before midnight, in the typical Dutch canal outside our small crooked terraced house, intensifies at around 3am and dies off as the birds start warming up their vocal chords and dawn. At first it was a bit of a nuisance, but now I think I will genuinely miss them when they are gone. Considering we live almost in the port of Vlaardingen, or Rotterdam, we smell the fumes of petrol and hear the working cranes, this plethora of quacks and noises is an absolute marvel.
It is the most perfect mating call, and funnily enough, every species of frogs have their own call so the females will only answer the call of a male frog of the same species! How odd yet convenient! And then the fun begins: the male frog mounts the female frog and can somtimes ride them for days on end before the fertilization is complete (years of reading the National Geographic pays off on such an occassion). I will not go into details of the process thereafter, noone needs a lecture on frog breeding, I am certain of that.
But I am grateful to have this little mystery of nature just outside our window, calling into the night , thousands of them, looking for a mate, probably more successfully then the human race.

Men in White Suits

One has to be extremely confident or extremely stupid to wear a white suit. Both actually can be combined come to think of it which will put off any reasonable man as he would not wish to be classified as that, confident and dumb. A man in a white suit is somewhat of a mystery to women as it immediately draws attention, but you don't really know why. Is it because its different ? Is it because its clean and you wonder how on earth does a man keep the front part of it clean ? (My Dad is known to come home after lunches or dinners outside with a whole history of what he ate on the front of his shirt.) Is it because it breathes summer, and sunshine, and warmth, and a slight touch of decadence as I believe Hemingway was known to wear white suits all the time. So was Mark Twain, winter and summer and for all occassions. I struggle to think who wears a white suit nowadays, apart from Hollywood stars on red carpet events. Most of us have settled for the moderate grey or sand colours. Something that is likely to stain less given the practical attitude of the average man in this day and age.
And I understand why an average man wouldn't want to wear one to be honest. Just watched another episode of the infamous Come Dine with Me in Exeter. The one male contestant, dull as dishwater and thick as a brick, kept turning up in white or pink (!) suits to impress the fellow female competitors. Did anybody fall for it ? NO! Because a dumbass such as himself cannot possibly carry off a garment as striking as that. You have to carry it off as some sort of a weapon, as it oozes power, sex, money, selfishness, and for that you need a few working braincells. Which he lacked. But he didnt lack confidence through his own ignorance, so he wore the suit. By doing so, immediately giving the wrong image to the future wearers of THE white suit. Which is a shame. Because it is beautiful. But perceived completely incorrectly in present times. I want Hemingway, I want Mark Twain, I want the exotic, quirky, sharpwitted man to walk the streets of today in a sparkling white suit and bear it with pride.