Here's to a New and blissfully happy New Year

It's never easy to capture a year gone by in a few catchy phrases. This year being no exception. The mayor life transition I am going through will only let itself be properly analysed in a year or two.  But for all the people that have asked me (and also for those that will probably still ask me in 2014) 'how it feels to be back in the Netherlands?',  I will try and put some of my feelings in writing. So in no particular order:


UP:
HOT:

IN:


* Having Mr. S. come home most nights. It's so much nicer to talk face to face than through a stop-and-go Skype connection. Added bonus: I don't have to discipline the kids all by myself anymore. So some days I actually am a great mum again. On those days I happily leave all the shouting to Mr. S.

* My sons's secondary school, where he found some great mates that are just as silly, ball obsessed and i-pod depended as he is.

* Our renewed relationships with bikes, that we use nowadays for any trip under 5 miles, as well as for the weekly shop or a trip to the local DIY store.  I must admit though that after my last wood buying frenzy I had to call Mr. S. to hop in the car to come to my rescue.

* Ice skating. My daughter and I love it. It's such a great excuse to drink hot chocolate all the time.

* The fact that someone hired me to do something that I love doing. I found myself a proper job again and I can't wait to get started

* Rowing. Twice a week I get to go out on some ancient moats around a very pretty fortified little town in a rowing boat. It's absolutely brilliant. It might take some years to master the basics (e.g. not putting the oars the wrong way round, not forgetting to look over my shoulder to see where I am going, never arriving at the club again without at least one change of dry clothes in an emergency bag), but I'll be patient.

*My cleaning lady. May be I should put this at the top of the list! I feel absolutely elated every Wednesday afternoon when I come home to an immaculately tidied and spotlessly clean house! After years of doing the cleaning myself it feels like the greatest luxury in the world to have someone else push the hoover around.

* The good fortune to find my daughter and international scout troop close by, so she can speak her beloved English once a week.

* Having family and old friends close by, so that we can share more of your day-to-day life.

* Enrolling the 12yo in a field hockey club. He has two practice sessions and a proper game each week. The other four days he likes to go and see if there is someone that wants to practise some more. He always finds someone.

* Indonesian and Chinese food being readily available again. Yam! I must admit we also love having a local chip shop again.

* Being able to talk to the butcher, people at the bus stop, fellow passengers on the train, other shoppers in the queue at the supermarket. I am very chatty and always hated the fact that chatting in either Swiss German or Italian was so tricky. I would only ever come up with a great thing to say when there was absolutely no one around to say it to.



DOWN:
NOT SO HOT:
OUT:


* Rain, rain, wind, wind, rain, rain, wind, wind. How can it be Christmas if it is twelve degrees, wet and windy? It just doesn't feel right.

* No mountains on the horizon, so no skiing, mountain hiking, or even just gazing at distant peaks. It helps if I don't look at my Swiss friend's pictures on facebook too often.

* The fact that we're in rented accommodation and probably will have to move again this summer. If we find a place we want to buy (and can afford)  that is.

* Supermarkets that sell more varieties of milk and yoghurt, than fresh vegetables and where you can get almost everything you could ever want for dinner either pre-cut, pre-cooked or ready made.

* Lunch consisting of two limp cheese sandwiches that have been packed into a little plastic bag around day break.

* Missing my Italian, Australian, Canadian, Dutch, Irish and  English friends, scattered around the globe. I think about them all the time.

* My fast expanding waistline. I have a tendency  to console myself with chocolate and cake.

* Getting soaking wet on my bike at least three times a week. The novelty has definitely worn off.

* My 12yo wanting a Play Station, because every single one of his new Dutch friends has one. It's a catch 22 really. If we buy him the darn machine he is going to play on it the whole time, but if we don't he will be going over to one of his friends and play on it the whole time.

* No distant horizons to discover in our new habitat. No pouring over Lonely Planets and no inviting stacks of leaflets scattered all around our living room. Although we did visit the famous Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam and it really was quite splendid.

* My children becoming way more independent than they would have whilst living abroad. In the Netherlands they take their bikes and go pretty much where they want to. It's undoubtedly great for them, but it will take me a little while longer to get used to it.

* Knowing that we won't be living abroad in quite a while. I don't like the idea that the expat part of our life is over.



Have a great  2014!

Bliss

I seldom allow myself to sit down with a cup of coffee and a magazine. That's why I have come to cherish my daughter's guitar lessons.

Every Tuesday afternoon from quarter to six to a quarter past six I get to sit and do absolutely bugger all. Sometimes I don't even bring a magazine. I just sit and stare at the walls, being mindful, but without all the trouble of actually trying to stare at a flower whilst trying to breath deeply.
To just sit somewhere without the slightest opportunity to do something useful, is fast becoming the highlight of my week. And the timing couldn't be more perfect. Most weekdays I seem to go totally blank around quarter to six anyway. Dolefully looking in the fridge, figuring out a way to magically transform it's meagre contents into a nutritious meal without too much trouble. Some days I am moderately successful at this, but these are few and far between.
The fact that I get to sit down and relax at that fatal time just before dinner, really is a blessing for all that are living under my roof. Since my daughter started her guitar lessons, most Tuesdays dinner either consists of pizza, or something delicious that I planned at a time, when my thoughts concerning food are still more or less coherent, thus leading to an altogether more satisfying meal.
Despite it's decrepit paintwork, it's rather harsh lighting and uncomfortable chairs, I have really come to like the little coffee corner at our local music school. If you don't bring your own reading material, there's only a stash of yellowing leaflets on learning how to play the trombone, cello or flute. Since I have no inclination whatsoever to learn how to make music in the near future, there is absolutely no need to read any of the brochures, which is nice. (In equally depressing waiting rooms I always feel morally obliged (or is it my ocd?) to read all sorts of disgusting brochures on nail fungus, piles, or psoriasis.)
Back to the coffee corner, where by now I have got to  know my fellow inmates, like you get familiar with the commuters on your daily tube ride into work. There is the granddad who eagerly awaits his granddaughter to come out of one class and go into the next. In the meantime he feeds her sandwiches and provides her with a drink that he brings in a small blue thermos.
Before and after the meal the old man reads his football magazine with an enthusiasm that makes me think he has a nagging wife at home who never lets him have a moment's peace. But come to think of it, he might be the little girl's father, having traded in his wife for a younger model years ago and now making up for the fact that he was too busy with work to see his first children grow up, by giving this precious girl all his love and attention.
I will never know of course, like I will never know, nor understand, why the father in the left hand corner of the waiting area, reads through the same old tattered free newspapers that must have been left behind weeks, if not months ago. Although come to think of  it, it might proof to be utterly relaxing to read news that stopped being news a long time ago.
Not that I will ever ask him, because letting my imagination run wild is such fun. Has the mum that accompanies a blond boy and a very exotic looking girl adopted one of the children, or both, or is she just looking after her neighbour's kid? What will the stony-faced father of the only boy in the ballet class talk about on the way home? And is the guy at the far end of the room actually waiting for someone, or just looking for a place to while away the time? Over the weeks, I have come up with several plausible, or less plausible stories, all the while carefully avoiding actually talking to any of these people as I feel the truth will probably come as a bit of a disappointment.
Thirty minutes of me time every week do of course come at a price. For every five minutes of silence on Tuesday afternoons, I am made to listen to a thirty minute guitar improvisation by my daughter, who loves to 'compose' her own songs. On top of this she tells me that she is too young to learn how to tune her guitar by herself and so far, I haven't had the audacity to go ask her teacher if she is telling the truth.
Besides, I really want her to learn how to play the guitar, as I can totally see her around a campfire somewhere creating a wonderful atmosphere. Or traveling the world, guitar strapped to her backpack.
In the meantime I will just have to listen to my daughter not getting it quite right. Which is easier said than done, as she plays most days and once she has started, there is no stopping her. But I have found the perfect solution in the form of the extractor fan.
My daughter can strum away and sing as loudly as she pleases, while I hide under the extractor fan. This way most of the guitar music passes me by, while I am still physically close to my daughter, so that I can give her a big thumbs up every time she proudly looks up at me. As an added bonus, every practise session will end with a - hopefully- lovely meal.
Now all I have to do is come up with a really good reason why guitar concerts can best take place roughly half an hour before we sit down to eat. Ideas, anyone?