Sennes school was, om met Máxima te spreken, een beetje dom geweest. Ze waren namelijk vergeten de plaatselijke discotheek af te huren voor het kerstgala dat elk jaar op de donderdag voor de kerstvakantie wordt gehouden. Nu moest er dus worden uitgeweken naar de maandag. Máándag! En morgen gewoon weer proefwerk. Het was om halftwaalf nog flink koud op die parkeerplaats ook. Niet leuk.
dinsdag 15 december 2009
14 december
Sennes school was, om met Máxima te spreken, een beetje dom geweest. Ze waren namelijk vergeten de plaatselijke discotheek af te huren voor het kerstgala dat elk jaar op de donderdag voor de kerstvakantie wordt gehouden. Nu moest er dus worden uitgeweken naar de maandag. Máándag! En morgen gewoon weer proefwerk. Het was om halftwaalf nog flink koud op die parkeerplaats ook. Niet leuk.
zondag 13 december 2009
13 december
Op verjaardagsvisite bij (schoon)mama een nostalgisch wandelingetje gemaakt langs de molen, de lagere en de middelbare school en ons oude huis aan de Tivoliweg.
links ons oude huis, rechts de middelbare school
12 december
Geborreld met de collega's in De Colonie (hierboven de toiletjuffrouw). Erg gezellig, zo gezellig dat ik na afloop een taxi naar huis moest nemen omdat er geen bussen meer reden, maar er waren dan ook veertig vertalers en voor je die allemaal gesproken hebt...
zaterdag 12 december 2009
11 december
Met zijn zessen 'voorgeborreld' tijdens de Vertaaldagen. Morgen volgt de echte borrel. Op de foto Richard en Leen. Onder: de button die de commissie Bar & Boos (die o.a. strijdt voor het behoud van het auteursrecht voor vertalers) heeft gemaakt om meer boekvertalers de weg naar de lijst te wijzen.
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
Tussen alle meuk gelukkig toch nog een leuke puzzel gevonden voor de kerstvakantie. Huisje gehuurd op een halfuurtje rijden van huis om lekker vier dagen te pielen met de open haard, te lezen, te puzzelen, te wandelen, desnoods te zwemmen en te tennissen, maar vooral even geen beeldscherm voor onze neus te hebben! Nog tien dagen, dan mogen we.
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