woensdag 30 december 2009
30 december
dinsdag 29 december 2009
29 december
maandag 28 december 2009
28 december
Dagje naar Amsterdam met zijn vieren. Anne had Publieke werken van Rosenboom gelezen en wilde dat Victoria Hotel nou wel eens zien. Mooi excuus voor een dagje uit. Gewinkeld, bioscoopje gepikt (Brothers) en hapje gegeten. Boven zie je ons, als je heel goed kijkt, over de brug lopen (net voordat Annes portemonnee gerold bleek...), onder de etalage van Scheltema.27 december
zondag 27 december 2009
26 december
zaterdag 26 december 2009
donderdag 24 december 2009
24 december
woensdag 23 december 2009
23 december
dinsdag 22 december 2009
22 december
maandag 21 december 2009
21 december
zondag 20 december 2009
20 december
zaterdag 19 december 2009
19 december
vrijdag 18 december 2009
18 december
donderdag 17 december 2009
17 december
woensdag 16 december 2009
16 december
dinsdag 15 december 2009
14 december
zondag 13 december 2009
13 december
12 december
zaterdag 12 december 2009
11 december
donderdag 10 december 2009
10 december
Nog maar eentje van de kerstboom, als illustratie bij het verhaal dat Anne gaat inzenden voor de Young Writers Competition 2009 (niet dat dat iets met kerst te maken heeft, maar eh... *verzint verband* de boom staat ook in een bak met aarde).
Soiled
‘No, you oughta put ‘em that way.’ She bends down and re-arranges the flowers so they look better. I suppose she should know.
‘That’s better,’ she says, satisfied. She smiles to me. I want to take that smile and put it in a box and preserve it forever.
‘What do you reckon we should do now?’ I say. ‘They’re all gone to eat.’
‘You shouldn’t of stayed here,’ she says. ‘They’ll come looking.’
‘So what?’ I say. I kick in a slow rhythm against the stone. It does not move. It is solid as it should be.
‘It does look pretty,’ she says. ‘With all them flowers.’
‘Don’t you think?’ I sit down in the grass surrounding it. My hand caresses the cold surface. Solid, smooth.
‘Aren’t you jealous?’ she says.
I shrug. ‘That’s okay.’ It’s because I can go wherever I want. But I don’t want to, not alone. ‘You coming with me?’ I say.
She looks down at the ground. Her white dress has gone all crinkly and covered in mud. She never wore dresses but now she does, because it’s an important occasion.
‘Let’s play a game,’ I say. I know she can’t come, not now. So I want to make her feel better.
‘Hide and seek,’ she says. ‘I’m hiding.’
I nod. I cover my eyes and hear her scuttle off, the shiny wet grass below her feet in the new black polished shoes rustling where she steps. I try to cover my eyes so all I see is black, but it’s too light and it won’t work. You gotta be under the ground for it to work.
Ten seconds, twenty, twenty-five. So I start looking. She can’t have gone too far. Anymore.
So I kneel down, the ground feels squishy and wet and my stockings, the black ones, my mother bought them specially for today, they get soiled and the wetness seeps through to my skin, and I shiver. But my hands don’t mind. They start digging away at the soil next to the solid, smooth surface, digging, digging, digging, and I don’t mind nothing anymore. It is still soft. Now I’m spoiling its freshness.
But I have a right to, I’m looking for her. If she’s gone for more than ten minutes I can call to her to come out, but I don’t want to lose.
‘Here she is,’ her aunt says, ‘look at her, look at what she’s doing!’
I look up, ready to say you oughtn’t give her away, that’s unfair, but she is looking at me, pointing with her white-gloved thin finger. Others follow. Their eyes stare, shocked, or disapproving, I don’t know. The uncle, the friendly one, who belongs to the aunt, he comes to me, he picks me up, lifts me onto his back. I hold on for life, dear life, and I think of the smile in the box but I don’t have the box.
The box is there beneath the soil and she is still stuck in it. Because I couldn’t find her and now it’s too late. So I cry.
Soiled
‘No, you oughta put ‘em that way.’ She bends down and re-arranges the flowers so they look better. I suppose she should know.
‘That’s better,’ she says, satisfied. She smiles to me. I want to take that smile and put it in a box and preserve it forever.
‘What do you reckon we should do now?’ I say. ‘They’re all gone to eat.’
‘You shouldn’t of stayed here,’ she says. ‘They’ll come looking.’
‘So what?’ I say. I kick in a slow rhythm against the stone. It does not move. It is solid as it should be.
‘It does look pretty,’ she says. ‘With all them flowers.’
‘Don’t you think?’ I sit down in the grass surrounding it. My hand caresses the cold surface. Solid, smooth.
‘Aren’t you jealous?’ she says.
I shrug. ‘That’s okay.’ It’s because I can go wherever I want. But I don’t want to, not alone. ‘You coming with me?’ I say.
She looks down at the ground. Her white dress has gone all crinkly and covered in mud. She never wore dresses but now she does, because it’s an important occasion.
‘Let’s play a game,’ I say. I know she can’t come, not now. So I want to make her feel better.
‘Hide and seek,’ she says. ‘I’m hiding.’
I nod. I cover my eyes and hear her scuttle off, the shiny wet grass below her feet in the new black polished shoes rustling where she steps. I try to cover my eyes so all I see is black, but it’s too light and it won’t work. You gotta be under the ground for it to work.
Ten seconds, twenty, twenty-five. So I start looking. She can’t have gone too far. Anymore.
So I kneel down, the ground feels squishy and wet and my stockings, the black ones, my mother bought them specially for today, they get soiled and the wetness seeps through to my skin, and I shiver. But my hands don’t mind. They start digging away at the soil next to the solid, smooth surface, digging, digging, digging, and I don’t mind nothing anymore. It is still soft. Now I’m spoiling its freshness.
But I have a right to, I’m looking for her. If she’s gone for more than ten minutes I can call to her to come out, but I don’t want to lose.
‘Here she is,’ her aunt says, ‘look at her, look at what she’s doing!’
I look up, ready to say you oughtn’t give her away, that’s unfair, but she is looking at me, pointing with her white-gloved thin finger. Others follow. Their eyes stare, shocked, or disapproving, I don’t know. The uncle, the friendly one, who belongs to the aunt, he comes to me, he picks me up, lifts me onto his back. I hold on for life, dear life, and I think of the smile in the box but I don’t have the box.
The box is there beneath the soil and she is still stuck in it. Because I couldn’t find her and now it’s too late. So I cry.
woensdag 9 december 2009
dinsdag 8 december 2009
8 december
maandag 7 december 2009
7 december
Ook leuk om te weten (voor mij dan toch) is dat er elke dag 115 door mij vertaalde boeken worden geleend in Nederland. Cool! Maar als ik mijn leengeld een beetje op peil wil houden, zal ik toch weer wat meer van die ECI-achtige titels moeten gaan vertalen. Literatuur loont niet.
zondag 6 december 2009
6 december
5 december
Sinterklaas gevierd in Nieuwegein. Veel fraaie gedichten, een paar inventieve surprises, mooie cadeaus en goed gezelschap. Op de terugweg om kwart over elf nog een tijd in de file gestaan vanwege een omleiding via de Bilt (wegwerkzaamheden), maar om twaalf uur kon Senne zijn nieuwe skateboard toch in elkaar gaan schroeven.
vrijdag 4 december 2009
4 december
donderdag 3 december 2009
3 december
woensdag 2 december 2009
2 december
Mooie opmerking trouwens vandaag in (positieve!) recensie van Zeitoun in het Parool door Dirk-Jan Arensman: 'Bestaan er echt zulke ingoede mensen?Aan de andere kant, Dave Eggers zelf bestaat ook.' (met dank aan Wim voor het signaleren)
dinsdag 1 december 2009
maandag 30 november 2009
30 november
Need I say more...
zondag 29 november 2009
29 november
zaterdag 28 november 2009
28 november
vrijdag 27 november 2009
27 november
26 november
woensdag 25 november 2009
25 november
dinsdag 24 november 2009
24 november
maandag 23 november 2009
zondag 22 november 2009
22 november
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