Andy in Amsterdam

Alex is amazing. Flickr was messin’ with me, and Alex came to my rescue - again. Thanks, Alex. Now I can post photos again. I’m very happy about that. There’s something about a photo-less blog entry that I don’t particularly like. It’s one of those things you learn in Blogging 101. People like pictures, even if they have nothing to do with anything, like the one above. This is a little graffiti by a guy here in Amsterdam. It usually shows up on temporary stuff. It’s always words and it’s mostly apropos of nothing, like this. Lil bird? Crashing into what? Not the point.

My choir is having a concert this Saturday. I figured I should announce it in case anyone local is dying to come hear my choir sing really old music. Here’s our program:

Giovanni Gabrieli
Jubilate Deo
Magnificat
Claudio Monteverdi
Cantate Domino
Sancta Maria
Jan Pieterszoon Sweelinck
Psaume 75 – O Seigneur, loué sera
Pseaume 109 – O Dieu, mon honneur
Pseaume 33 – Reveillez-vous, chascun fidèle

It’s very high brow, which is the only reason I’m involved in it at all. Did that sound sarcastic? It was meant to. It’s very pretty music. No previous knowledge of the music is necessary to enjoy it. It’s mostly “peppy” as a friend of mine would say. You don’t have to be able to understand the various languages we’re singing in. Rest assured that I’m singing phonetically. But it’s all religious. Praise to the Lord and all that. We’re in a church after all. Props to the landlord.

It’s this Saturday 4 September at the Oude Kerk and here is the program:

19.30 h.
Boudewijn Zwart, carillon concert

20.15 h.
Official Opening by Mr. Eberhard van der Laan,
Mayor of the City of Amsterdam

20:15 h.
Opening concert
Gabrieli, Monteverdi & Sweelinck – Amsterdam & Venice
Matteo Imbruno & Gustav Leonhardt (Music for two organs)
Camerata Oude Kerk, conducted by Henk Verhoef

They’re going to try to keep the concert “in the hand,” so it won’t get be too long. I think we’ll probably sing a total of about an hour. The other concert is our Christmas concert, which is performed in the same church. It’s an ice box at that time of the year. This would be the concert to go to unless you’re skin is naturally covered in fleece from head to toe

In other entertainment news, I reached a milestone yesterday evening when I watched an Italian movie with Dutch subtitles for the first time. I went with Fred and his Italian colleague, Antonella. It was an interesting mix of abilities. Fred, of course, speaks Italian, but he probably did a lot of reading. He told me he can’t help but read subtitles when they’re on. Antonella, of course understood everything, and I was reading as fast as I could.

The movie was Io Solo L’Amore. It’s that Italian movie that Tilda Swinton is in. She plays a Russian woman who moved to Italy many years ago. It’s a little slow, but kept our attention. There were a few bits I missed because the words were passing by so fast, but after a while most of it was obvious. And Fred and Antonella cleared the rest of it (like…the ending.) up over dinner.

The summer is still drawing to an end. (I’m totally fine with that.) My classes don’t start for almost two weeks. So I’m slowly prepping, although I feel less pressure because I’m using the same books I used last year.

And fingers crossed. I might have another writing gig. I applied for something yesterday and got an enthusiastic reply by. I believe the exact quote was “…your experience and skills are precisely what we are looking for.” Snap! We’ll see how things play out. It would be great.

I got a call a few weeks ago from a choir director who I’d worked with about a year ago. He does ‘project’ choirs. He gets a bunch of people together, has two rehearsals and then there’s a performance. Thus, it’s a lot of self-study. The last time I agreed to be in the choir, the director delivered the score to my mailbox, I bought the music online and I went over and over it until I’d learned to sing all those little German words at the right time at the right pitch.

In the end, I sort of hated the experience as a whole. I enjoyed the music and I enjoyed singing, but being there with those other choir people was sort of dismal. There wasn’t really anyone I related to, so the breaks were difficult. They mostly consisted of me flipping through a magazine or busying myself with something so I didn’t look completely losery standing alone at a table drinking my tea and eating my cookie. They all know seemed to know each other. And they were the sort of people who split into groups at breaks along gender lines.

They were also just old and straight enough that I really didn’t have anything to talk about with them anyway. It’s that kind of situation where a group of guys start talking about football or something else they have in common and I just stand there willing the break to end. I finally met an immigration lawyer who was also sort of an outcast. We sat next to each other in rehearsal, on the end. There’s was a small group of tenors who sat together in the middle in an exclusive clique. Think very pretty teenage girls but in the bodies of average looking men in their late fifties and early sixties. If I made a mistake they were like “Gah!”

The director has called a few times in the past year and left messages. I’ve always had an excuse (real or made up) about why I couldn’t make it. But when he called this time, he caught me on the phone and I said yes. Afterward, I thought, That’s strange. I can’t feel the pain of that last experience. I guess that’s when I agree to go back into something like that. It’s far enough away that I think I’ll just go in with a different attitude this time. And I will. Different expectations will help. I’m not there to make friends. It’s an experience. I’m always fascinated to be the lone American in a group. And I love getting through those things in Dutch. I feel like I always need more of that.

He dropped the score in our mailbox again and I bought the Bach’s Cantata 131 from iTunes and listened to it. It’s fine for a while, but then there are runs of eighth notes (and sixteenth notes) going all over the place and I get lost because I can’t hear the tenor line. I need to learn it slowly first before I can do it at full speed.

Alastair used to plug our notes into a computer program and send them to me so I could go over our music for choir. It really helped. But since he relocated to sunny Scotland, I don’t have that crutch to lean on. I found an email he sent me months ago and followed a link to MuseScore.com. It’s exactly what I need. It’s a free program and you can ‘compose’ in the blank score sheets they provide.

So I sat here yesterday and plugged notes in and then plugged the words in. It’s a bit of trial and error because they don’t explain in the video tutorials (there are ten) how to make a rest (it’s the space bar) and there are a few other things that I had to do again and again until I was finally plugging notes in fairly quickly. Fixing mistakes is still a problem, but it’s just for me and I can live with a certain amount of them.

I was so very happy yesterday after I’d finished the first one. I was buoyant. It was such a weight on my shoulders. I kept thinking: How am I going to learn this music without a piano and without this computer program? And then when we get new music in my real choir what’s going to happen?

The other day I was at the library and I ran into a woman (the woman if you remember her) from my writer’s group. I told her I wouldn’t be at writer’s group on Thursday because my choir was having an extra rehearsal. She asked why I was at the library. I told her I was meeting my knitting group at the library. And now there’s this second choir. I really am all about the extra-curricular activities. If I were applying for college, I’d be a shoe in.

I think that’s just how I’m built. I’m constantly doing something. Years ago, a friend of mine said, “You’re such a joiner.” I am.

As much as I don’t want to admit it to myself, the summer seems to have come to an end. Not only is the weather amazingly cool, but my autumnal activities have already begun and it looks like my schedule is only going to get fuller. It started with choir on Thursday evening. I didn’t realize until Wednesday afternoon that we would be reconvening this week. I gave the music a look on Wednesday and then a couple of times on Thursday before deciding that I was prepared (or prepared enough) to go back. I wasn’t sure how I was going to take not seeing Alastair.

But at least Mark would be there, I thought to myself. Mark is the other tenor. He’s British and friendly. Mark, however, wasn’t there. What we had was two new tenors: Thomas and Ed. Very experienced tenors who are new to the choir. We have a concert coming up on 4 September. We have three rehearsals (one of which I have to miss) and then we sing. Good luck to us. I’m almost lonely without Alastair, but I’ve decided to be more friendly, more open to interactions in Dutch with my choir colleagues. It’s happening. They’re nice people. But I do miss Alastair.

I also made the decision yesterday to start a project. It’s not important what the project is, but I will say that I like starting projects. This summer has been such a waste land. August in Amsterdam is pretty dead in terms of work. Having made a decision to start something pepped me up a bit and got me out of that sludgy dead space. I think I’m going to plan ahead for next year with the understanding that August is not the time to look for work. If something comes along (and a few things have), that’s fine. But so many people are on vacation during August. Looking for work has been pitiful.

Remember the woman I wrote about who started the writer’s group, but who was a terrible organizer? Turns out she’s incredible at a critique. She is incredibly insightful and articulate. Another guy and I turned in pieces and had them critiqued by the group. She was amazing. The rest of the group was good too, but she really shined. I wrote her and told her that since I had raked her for her organizational skills (in person), I thought I should tell her how much I enjoyed her being there. I just wanted it on record that I do like to balance out my harsh words. (And I can be harsh.)

Lastly, the sleeves of my latest sweater are almost finished. (I still have to knit the body.) Actually, there’s lots more to go, but I have finished the main part. I hope it fits and that the colors look as good together as I think they will. If it doesn’t work out, I’ll just remember that a lot of the point of this sweater is perfecting my finishing techniques.

We have an anniversary party this afternoon/evening. Fred’s sister and her husband have been married for 40 years. I have difficulty being around him for 40 minutes, so good on her. I feel so much more immersed in Dutch culture now than I was even last year. I think it’s the reading, Lydia (my neighbor with whom I speak weekly) and the choir.

I just realized that two days ago was the eighth anniversary of my first time in Europe. It’s also the eight anniversary of my meeting Fred. I’d better go give the man a hug.

Last night I got to knitting and it was mobbed. How mobbed was it? It was so mobbed that I had to sit at another table. I could have scooched in, but there would have been no place for my two beverages. I always order two: a tea and a Spa Rood (Dutch for fizzy water). I like two beverages. Sometimes at home I have three going when I add a coffee. But that’s just how I am.

I sat with three women: two of them Swiss and one German. Alex had told me to make sure that I came because she had something to give me. I knew that she had just come back from Knit Camp, and I know she’s a very generous person, but I couldn’t imagine what she had for me. As it turns out, she was merely the mule for Louise who sent some lovely yarn and a note by way of Alex. I was thrilled as I’ve been a fan of Louise for years. She blogs (when she get around to it) and I know her through blogging. It’s lovely yarn, and if I could figure out how to put a picture up, I would put up a picture. (I think I need to update something. I’m doing the same thing I always did, but it’s not accepting the code I’m giving it. Alex, help!)

The yarn is Jamieson & Smith 2 Ply Jumper Yarn. (Jumper being British for sweater.) Several months ago, when I was bemoaning the discontinuation of Rowan’s Yorkshire Tweed 2-ply, Nancy told me that Jamieson was a good substitute. She did not, however, spell it for me, so I haven’t been able to find it - and I keep forgetting to ask. Now I have some! I might just try to squeeze a pair of gloves out of these. They’re two lovely greens. Thanks, Louise! You’re the best. Or, as my British colleagues used to say, “You’re a star!” Cheers! Chop chop, cheerio!

It sounds like the knit camp was sort of a giant mess. I’m almost sorry I didn’t sit on the outskirts of the larger table last night so I could hear people talk about all that went wrong. However, when I was saying good-bye, I heard a few bits and pieces. Basically, it sounds like things went wrong and just got wronger and wronger. On the upside, they had a great time. They were together and knitting. What could possibly be wrong with that? I’m going next year for sure. I’ve never had a whole weekend of knitting and being around only knitters. I think I might love it. (By the way, if you want to read about Knit Camp, you can read Louise’s blog, Klotzer has a very thorough post about it and I’m sure Alex will post something about it…eventually.)

A few weeks ago, I heard a podcast on Fiber Beat. It was about the Men’s Knitting Retreat, which I want to say was on the East Coast in the Fall (That’s American for autumn). It was about thirty men and it sounds as if it was pretty darn gay. What do gay men do at an event like that? Sit and talk and camp and have fun…and knit. Listening to the guys being interviewed on the podcast talk about it reminded me of going to the International Gay and Lesbian Square Dancing Convention for eight years when I was in NYC and still square dancing. Now that was fun.

There’s really nothing like being at a convention that is geared towards a common interest that’s a hobby, like knitting or square dancing. I’m sure people get the same thrill out of conventions about autism, banking and computer programming, but I have to think that the hobby aspect must add a little bit of something. The whole point of it is to have fun. And knitting and square dancing are two incredibly wonderful and fulfilling hobbies.

Then when you add in the aspect that it’s mostly gay men (there are always interlopers supporters, and we always welcome them), that just adds another level of dare I say it? Gaiety. Gay men are generally funny and generous. It’s like any other minority when they’re together. We just let our guards down and know it’s a (generally) completely safe space. I mean, my guard is mostly down around my knitting ladies, but in a group of gay men I’ve known for a long time, it’s different. I miss that. I don’t have a gay community here.

Fortunately, I know that I scared off most people by saying the word ‘yarn’ and that very few people got this far. I’ll close by affirming again that I really do love my life here. I just miss having a gay community. I’ll have to work on that. And thank you for reading this far.

The other day, I followed a link to a blog that I found on a profile of a guy who had just friended me on Raverly. (That does make sense. You might have to read it more than once to get it.) It was one of those cute two-post blogs. It was brand new. New blogs are like charms on a bracelet, a miniature version of the real thing. It showed promise. Old blogs with two posts, though are like old dried raisins you find under the couch. Anyway, he seemed to have some idea of what he wanted to blog about and it was fairly entertaining reading.

In his second post, he wrote that he didn’t really have a lot to write about because not a lot was going on in his little country life. I wanted to write him (and I still should) to tell him to write even when there’s nothing to write about. I find big events sort of daunting. Like we just had some friends here from out of town and a lot happened. But it’s easy to write and gripe about how (some) Dutch people park their bikes in the middle of the sidewalk. Heck, I could write something like that every day - and nice stuff too. And at the end of the day, I have to say that it’s more the every day stuff that I enjoy. I like to look behind the curtain and see how people live.

So I was thinking about this and I realized that I hadn’t blogged in a while. Why? Because nothing is really happening in my little country life. Well, some things have definitely happened. Our friends, Patty, Bill and Travis, were in town for a few days. It was a whole new experience seeing them not hosting. We always go see them. For the first time in our friendship (besides the wedding trip), I was leading the pack, ‘responsible’ for their good time. It was my kitchen that was a mess. It was me who decided how we got from here to there. They’re very easy guests; they stayed at a local hotel and anything they saw was new. It was a lot of fun to have them here, and the day after they left, I did as little as possible.

I also finished a sweater. I am waiting to find the right buttons before post pictures. I put all the pieces together, I wove in all the ends, and I gave it a light blocking. It’s ready for the fall. And I like the fit.

On Thursday, I went to see my friend, Miranda, in Gouda. They’re actually outside Gouda. They live in a village, which was not exactly what I expected. Say ‘village’ to me and I think of something like the movie The Village - M. Night Shyamalan right as he was losing his groove (not that that’s stopped him from making movies). This is much more 20th century. It’s small and quiet and sort of suburban. I got to meet her two boys and we hung out. Miranda is one of the first people I met when I moved here. She’s an expat and a writer and we always have tons to talk about. It’s nice to finally have old friends here.

And I did another edit (the penultimate, I hope) of the book coming out in September. Lots of little writing bits like the author bio and the introduction. By the way, isn’t penultimate a great word? I love using it.

So my life has been busy, but it’s just living. There’s nothing earth shattering going on. Oh. One thing I can’t figure out is how to get a photo on the blog. Alex and a lot of other knitters are in Scotland at a knitting retreat. (Is it Knit Camp?) Louise is there as well as a couple of knitters from Amsterdam. I heard that the planning was horrible. Lots of classes cancelled and teachers from the US being deported because they didn’t have a work permit. But I’d still love to go because I love being around knitters. Anyway, when Alex returns, I’ll ask her what changed with Flickr. I can’t link from my Flickr account any more. Change one button and I’m lost. I tried lots of things, but nothing worked.

We have a thing today at De Bieschbos. We have to be Almere at 13:00 and then we go from there. It’s a boat ride and then dinner. See? I stay busy. That’s why I haven’t posted anything about the vacation. It’s these little things that come up. I do much better when I’m crunched for time.

As I write this, in the Center of Amsterdam there are lots of soggy drag queens and go-go boys on canal boats - and a few mainstream corporate types as well. It’s a very rainy Gay Pride Day in Amsterdam. We’ve skipped out, opting to clean the house and prepare for dinner guest tomorrow night. That’s pretty gay.

So this whole California same sex marriage thing is good news, huh? I was, of course, very happy to hear the news. Equally happy to the sadness I felt when it was voted down by California voters in 2008. They let Californians vote on it. It’s never a good idea to put minority rights to a vote. I feel very good about same sex marriage becoming law in the US in the near future. It’s coming. I can feel it in my bones. It’s been such a crazily contentious issue in the past few years, and there are a lot of smarties working on the issue. Plus, we have good on our side.

Having been married for almost two years, I am happy to report that our marriage has not had any ill effects on any opposite-sex marriages - that I know of. If you or anyone you know has been affected in any adverse way by Fred and me tying the knot, I apologize.

What I really love about this whole California court case is that the people in charge of the anti-same-sex side really screwed up in a huge way. I heard they only had two witnesses and they were both completely discredited by the judge - who was an appointee of George Bush, Sr., so you know he was no crazy lefty liberal judge. Plus, the whole point they were arguing was that households headed by couples of the same sex would have an adverse affect on any children raised in those households. That’s a pretty stupid argument. And it’s hard to prove. In fact, it’s pretty easy to disprove it.

I was exchanging emails the other day with a woman who is the head of HR at some company in the US. She’s a Facebook friend. She said she was trying to get health care coverage for same sex couples at her company. I think that’s the way change is going to happen. It’s going to be chipping away at these norms until the odd ones out are the ones who are not offering coverage for same sex partners. I applauded her for her efforts. And this is a fairly conservative woman who is active in her fairly conservative church. But she knows that it’s the right thing to do. And she knows gay people are - in general - fabulous people.

Listening to coverage about this and about gay rights in general, I heard someone talk about the generational shift that’s going to help change happen. It’s older people who are, in general, the most homophobic. Younger people see that it’s no big deal. My sister’s kids have always known that their uncle is gay. Patty’s kids have always known I’m gay. It’s just presented as a matter of fact. And, in general, my generation is pretty cool with the whole gay thing. Homophobia is generally of seen as a sign of ignorance, like racism. And there are all those gay characters on TV and there are a few openly gay actors. Those things chip away at societies prejudice. People see that it’s not a big deal.

A few years ago, I was teaching high school in The Hague (where my students knew I was gay, but that’s not my point) and someone asked me if I thought the US would ever have a Black president. I said, “Yes, but not any time soon.” I was wrong. It happened much sooner than I imagined was possible. And now there’s this whole same sex marriage issue and the Don’t Ask Don’t Tell thing that will both come crashing down. What is good and right will win out. Maybe there will be a set back; I’m not a fortune teller. However, in the end, mark my words, gay people will get equal rights in the US.

I know there are people out there who are all like “I love my gay son, but I don’t like the idea of gay people being allowed to get married or gay people in the military.” To those people, I say, Shame on you. Shame on you for not wanting your child to have equal opportunity for happiness. Shame on your for wanting to limit their career opportunities. Shame on you for wanting to throw road blocks up in someone’s life. Shame on you for doing anything that will keep this hateful cycle of prejudice going. That’s not love. That’s not love for your child, and that’s not love for your fellow human being. You’re fooling yourself and you should be ashamed. Educate yourself.

And for the rest of: Hooray! Equal rights for gay people will be good for everyone. I’m very happy to know there are people out who stand by the gay community. As a self-appointed representative of the gay community, I thank you.

My life has taken such a turn. Suddenly it’s all about writing. I enjoy it, but it takes so much time and energy. And then suddenly the day is gone and I haven’t blogged. And I have to run off to something. There’s always something to run off to. Fortunately, a huge and frustrating time-suck just got off my plate (read: it went to print), so I have a little more time. Said time-suck was not the book I wrote about in the last post. It was a project I was working on that was exactly what is meant when one says, “Too many cooks spoil the broth.”

I’ve joined two writing groups. I won’t stay in both, but I am in two for now. There’s talk of merging them. I met with the first group again (the one that met for the first time on the night of the semi-finals) and it was a much larger group. There were about ten of us. Interestingly, not everyone came to it with an interest in writing. Some people just want to talk about writing. To me, that’s sort of like asking someone if they like food, but instead of feeding them, you just talk about food. It’s satisfying to a point, but it’s not what I came for. There are also a couple of people who don’t write in English.

The picture I’ve always (or at least recently) had of myself is that I’m measured and gentle in my criticism. And with someone’s writing, I am very careful. I always give ’sandwich’ criticism: good, bad, good. They’re putting their writing out there. They’re trusting me with something very personal. But the other night , as were discussing how the group would be run, I said, “No. That’s ridiculous.” and “No. That’ll never work.” It felt like there were people who just wanted to stick a toe in and talk about some ideas they might write about if they were going to write. And when the subject of poetry came up, I just said, “No.” I’m in a very no-b.s. mood lately. And I’m not going to discuss amateur poetry. Like opera, poetry is very hit and miss with me. And I don’t know enough about it to discuss it intelligently.

I’ve also been terribly hard on the organizer. When she didn’t bring a sign again, she said, “Organizing isn’t my thing.” I said, “Apparently.” She said, “Maybe I should hand the leadership over to someone else.” I said, “Maybe you should.” She said, “That’s mean!” I said, “I’m just agreeing with you.” Yeah, I know. It was mean. Fortunately, a guy who is an experienced organizer brought a sign.

Tonight is the other writing group. It’s less people by far, but there was no question as to what we would be doing: writing and critiquing. Interestingly, there’s a guy who has been to all three (tonight is the forth) meetings of these two groups. I feel like if it comes down to it, I’ll go with the group he’s in. He’s interested in what I am: writing and critiquing. By the way, I don’t mind talking about writing. I actually like it. But I don’t want it to be the focus of the group.

Meeting people here is so interesting. There’s a never-ending flow of people passing through this town. And it’s interesting how people introduce themselves and give their quick description of who they are. I feel like I have a nice core of people who I know will be here for the long haul, but there are these spaces in my life that I’m always looking to fill, like writing friends. I want people I can meet with and talk to where it’s not a competition and where our ability, confidence and enthusiasm and on a comparable level. I had a very nice writers group for years, but we disbanded ‘temporarily’. I miss it.

The middle of the summer is such a strange place. I’m working on things, but there’s very little pressure on me. I’m working a little here and there. I’m knitting a sweater that might actually fit. I just finished reading a couple of books and started another. My editor is on vacation in Hungary supposedly working on my book, which I would like to have in my hands in September. I think I’ll writing about knitting tomorrow. I have a few stories to tell.

Last week I went to the Royal Palace on Dam Square with my friend, Ann. She’d suggested we go because she needed to write about it for a guide book. I was glad to go and even gladder that she talked her way into a couple of free tickets using a letter from the publisher. (Apparently the Museumkaart is not valid at the Royal Palace.) I’d never been inside the Royal Palace. It is, for the uninitiated, not where the queen lives. She lives in The Hague. The Royal Palace in Amsterdam was the city hall and then it was made the Royal Palace by Napoleon and is currently used for meetings and special occasions.

Neither Ann nor I were particularly impressed with the palace. It’s okay, but it’s not a must-see unless you’ve lived here for a while and you’ve seen everything a couple of times. Ann and I both qualify. The rooms, we agreed, just sort of look like the rooms in an ultra swank hotel. I wanted more of a period look, like Schönbrunn in Vienna. That’s a royal palace. It’s not lived in. It’s not used for meetings. It’s just a big old building with lots of signage. Oh well. It’s not like the palace here is one of the biggies. I think we went to Het Loo a few years ago and enjoyed that. This photo is one I took at the palace with the Hipstamatic feature on my iPhone.

Last Sunday, Fred and I sat and watched as they Spanish and the Dutch battled it out in South Africa. We were on the couch, lots of other people - and I mean lots of other people - were on Museumplein at one of those big, drunken parties that people who enjoy that sort of thing enjoy. Interestingly, the whole day - and I mean the whole day - there were people dressed like this

streaming towards Museumplein. They were mostly dressed in orange, some more cleverly than others. A lot of them had little strips on their faces (red, white and blue) symbolizing the flag. There were hats, boas, and all that sort of thing. It’s the same basic drag one wears for Queen’s Day. I just realized that I need to get more orange in my wardrobe. It’s the kind of thing one needs to have if one lives in a country ‘ruled by’ the House of Orange.

Fred came home at about four o’clock and said that Museumplein was crowded with people who were already drunk. (The game started at 8:30 pm.) He said something about the kind of people who go to those things. Not much later, they were telling people who were not yet in Amsterdam at Museumplein to not come to Amsterdam. We were full.

Having watched a rather boring game, I can tell you that I am not a fan of football/soccer. The players are all a bunch of big babies rolling on the ground as if they’d taken a bullet when someone else had just bumped them. The referee is known for handing out a lot of yellow cards (if you get two, you’re out of the game) and they were all playing up to him trying to get the other team to get as many as possible. At least the Dutch won that part of the game. I think it was eight out of eleven players got yellow cards and one guy got a red card. By the end, we were just glad someone got a goal, which meant that the game was over.

There was another event last night. The team came home and there was another celebration for them. (They got second place after all.) Again, people broke out the orange clothing, stocked up on beer and headed to Museumplein. Hearing that, one might think Dutch people were drunks with bad taste in clothing.

Yes, one would think that, wouldn’t one?

It’s raining right now. The days have been fine, warm, but not overly. I get up every morning and go out on the balcony to write for a while. It’s lovely. It’s cool and all sorts of things go on out there that strike me as very exotic in that they’re very European. There was a little family having a breakfast picnic in their garden this morning. The painters who are working on the building adjacent to us arrived and began work, dressed in white and looking very Dutch. I caught glimpses of people in their kitchens getting ready for the day. Our balcony looks over a courtyard similar to the one in Rear Window, except ours is much larger and because it’s not a movie set it’s really difficult to see into people’s apartments - not that I’ve tried. I’ve only heard people say that.

I’ve spent the last two days editing a manuscript I hope to have finished and in book form by September. It’s a travel journal I kept on my first trip to Europe. I’m going to self-publish it through Lulu.com - and the plan is that it will be available through Amazon. I’m having a friend edit it. He did some edits and now I’m looking at them and either agreeing or disagreeing with them. It’s an interesting process. He’s very opinionated. And I’m finding out that I am too. It’s fascinating to see where there are holes in the story. He’s really good at helping me see those bits.

It’s been a good summer, a little quiet and isolated, but I’m finding ways to get out and see people. And productive. I’m enjoying being productive. And I’m listening to Oprah Winfrey read White Oleanders. She’s wonderful.  I don’t know how people get bored.

Kathy got us a room in a hotel in Southlake, which is near Dallas but still in Tarrant County. We’d driven by it last time we were there, but, like a virus, it has grown and spread. The Hilton is located in a completely beautiful and artificial looking “Town Center”. (We saw an exact replica in North Carolina.) It’s one of those places with perfect buildings and perfect trees and all our favorite stores, including a Barnes and Nobles and a Starbucks. We loved it. Fred said that if we were to move to Texas (don’t hold your breath), we’d have to move there. I agreed. Of course it would sort of be like living in Disneyland, but I live in a postcard now, so that wouldn’t be so bad, would it?

Sunday was reserved for a family gathering. It was going to be a bigger gathering, but my father decided to limit the number of attendees, which was a good idea. Here’s who was there: My father, Kathy, my mother, me, Fred, Jonathan (my nephew), Uncle Mac Bruce, Aunt Mary and Aunt Ema.

My father’s wife, Lene, took the picture. Here’s a snap of her wearing…we’ll get to that later.

Lene prepared a lovely brunch: quiche, cornbread (or did I dream that?) and an egg dish I would have totally flipped past if I had read it in a book, but that was very good. Hawaiian Eggs: a fried (poached?) egg, on a pineapple ring with a little salsa in the middle, on a piece of Canadian bacon and (I think) an English muffin. It worked surprising well. And, of course, there was coffee and iced tea.

It was mostly everyone sitting around talking and eating before we had a coconut cake (which thankfully did not have any candles on it). Aunt Mary and Aunt Ema are into genealogy and I got my copy of a book Ema had put together on the Brown side of the family. (That’s my paternal grandmother’s maiden name, not our African-American heritage.) Kathy said she’s got an even better one coming out about the Baker side. I like reading about my family history.

Kathy told me that the last time she’d seen Uncle Bruce, the subject of my knitting came up and he said, “Tell him to make me a hat. I can never find one big enough.” I ended up making him a Windschief, a design by Stephen West of Westknits fame. And dang it if this isn’t the only picture I have of it. I usually get better pictures. It’s Uncle Bruce right after I gave it to him. His head isn’t really that big. I hope he wears it in good health. He says he has to wear a hat to bed because his head gets cold. He lives in Texas. (Turn down the a/c.) Anyway, it’s a good knit. I recommend it.

I also made a shawl for Lene. I had made a Clapotis for my mother some time ago and then I made an Ishbel for Kathy (along with a couple of others that were just practice shawls), so Lene was next in line. I made a Traveling Woman shawl by Liz Abinante. I recommend it. It’s a really fun knit, lace but not amazingly difficult. I will say that that pattern calls for two repeats of the A pattern. I put in an extra A repeat and it’s the right size for Lene who is a small person, and it’s the right size for her. I got the yarn from Yarns Apart. It’s the Bark colorway by Madeline Tosh Socks. It’s a great yarn. I recommend. And by the way, I could have totally gotten another repeat of the A pattern.

This is not the shawl I set out to knit. That one will wait or it will be another pattern. I was too much in a rush and it quit being fun. However, the intention of the shawl remained. I knit the shawl as a forgiveness shawl. The idea (and how it pretty much worked out) was that I was knitting forgiveness into the shawl. It’s not that Lene has really done anything wrong - certainly not intentionally. She’s just being who she is and it sometimes gets on my nerves. She’s really a lovely person in her own right, and she makes my father very happy. It was an exercise in letting go of resentments.

And I recommend that. I like a little exercise that helps make it real, that I can touch and that at some point will be finished and blocked and given away. Just done do it with dental floss alpaca in a rush. That’ll give you another set of resentments. That’s the shawl on her in the photo above. Here’s a little detail Fred took.

So that was Texas mostly. I did get one souvenir worth mentioning, but I’ll write about that later in combination with something else.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Texas is a great place to be from.