Monday, November 26, 2012

Neighbours

I shall miss my neighbours when I move...

Her Afghan hound
Is straining at the leash.
Her hair is plastered down,
Mirroring the bedraggled coat
Of her unruly pet
Who, skittish in the wind,
Pulls at the lead
And turns her full circle.

Pink umbrella catches my eye,
Twirling her round
And transforming her
Into an awkward marionette,
Pirouetting on the pavement,
As the rain pours steadily down.
A stylish pair they make,
Even in the rain.

Old man walks past my window,
A comical figure,
Full of pathos, with
A small cigar protruding from his lips,
Intent on his daily jaunt,
His constitutional,
And the small, brown dog
Trotting along beside him.

He looks straight ahead
And mutters a gruff ‘good evening’,
Tamed after years
Of my persistent attempts
To draw this neighbour of mine
Into conversation.
But his best friend of all
Already walks beside him.

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

‘Don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone… but it was good!’


A tribute to my friends in the Writers Circle

We’re on the move! After living almost a quarter of our lives in the Netherlands, we’re leaving! We never expected to stay so long when we came – but that’s what they all say. Fifteen years! It’s a way of life: the Dutch language, Dutch lifestyle, Dutch customs (and the expat ones), favourite places, favourite foods, favourite bars and restaurants and, of course, favourite friends… my friends.

I shall miss you all. There, I’ve said it. I’m looking forward, of course – to the next adventure; but I’m looking backward too, over my shoulder - already. I know I shall miss you. It’s a very special place, this writers circle, and each one of you is special – irreplaceable. You’ve known me for some years now, you’ve welcomed me, shared my ups and downs, laughed at my jokes, listened to my stories and praised my writing attempts, taking me seriously and giving me constructive criticism with a smile and the sincere encouragement I needed to go on. And I love each one of you – so gloriously different, so wonderfully unique. We’ve a wealth of talent here and I am proud to know you, proud to be part of you, happy to eat your scones, touched by your hospitality, invigorated by your enthusiasms.

So I’m taking you all with me (did you know that?), packed in my suitcase. I haven’t finished with you yet – I shall need you in my new life. Well, maybe not in my suitcase, but in my heart, in my memories box, in my fund of inspiration and my sense of self-worth. You’ve all given me so much.

I’m packing up my home right now. There’s a lot of it to pack – you wouldn’t believe how much (yes, maybe you would!). Packing up my life and putting it in store. I’m going home… well, home from home. Which one’s home? Hard to know really. I’m going home for Christmas. I’m going home to my sister’s. But I shall be homeless for a while: a displaced person… a bag lady! In transit. In process. In a muddle!

But, I promise you, when I’m settled in, I’ll unpack it all – including you. I’ll unpack you all from my memory box and you’ll occupy pride of place on the mantelpiece – well, probably on the bookshelf, next to my writing desk or beside my Parker pen. A fitting place for my inspirational friends. Thank you all – for a box full of memories, a bundle of laughs, a warm blanket of friendship around my shoulders and an immeasurable richness of stories, poems, moments of shared madness, outpourings of passion and sheer literary genius. Thank you most of all for your acceptance, which I accept gladly, and will take away as a part of me wherever I go.

Sunday, November 11, 2012

Weather Alert!

It's Sherlock Holmes weather! A thick mist has settled over the canals and if this were London in times past it would be a good day for a murder...

These days weather seems so 'global'. Maybe it's just that we are more aware of what is going on in other places. Huge weather systems develop and sometimes the whole continent seems enveloped by the same weather - whether it's drought, storms, or torrential rain and flooding. The weather is a wild card these days and even more unpredictable than ever.

I watch the weather's progress on TV. 'Exiled' in the Netherlands, I still like to watch the good old BBC 'back home'. Carol, in her latest outfit, with her never-failing neat hairdo, tells us that a depression is sweeping westwards across Britain. It will cause heavy rain and maybe some flash flooding - there are flood alerts out in many areas - but it will move away eastwards by tonight, so a better day tomorrow. 'Thanks for that, Carol!' I think. Where will it move to? Oh, just into northern Europe, France, the Netherlands - somewhere far away! In Britain they are looking forward to a fine weekend, but we shall be wearing their cast-offs.

Is our weather always someone else's cast-off? Rain today there means rain here tomorrow. Strong winds there are repeated here tomorrow, but hopefully a bit weaker, some of their initial fury gone. Somewhere, surely, the weather must be brand new! Like pristine, crisp, sparkling snow falls, with not a footprint to be seen, somewhere there must be shiny new weather - sparkling new raindrops, bright, shiny sunshine, pure, clean, soft rain that has never before touched the ground or glistened on the first rose of summer.

I imagine some kind of cauldron, or maybe a furnace, with weather elves, dressed in green, a bit like Santa's little helpers. They are busy creating weather. They hold pressure gauges and test their very own new recipes for high and low weather pressure systems. There are grumpy elves, down in the Doldrums, creating low pressure and gloom; bright, chirpy elves making bright, sunny days and happiness. Fresh off the peg!

There are dark, gloomy days, hurricanes, each with their own name, ready to roll and spread abroad chaos and destruction. In another place, there is a small store of perfect summer days, ready to be let loose sporadically, just when the inhabitants of earth have started to despair - the perfect blue sky, perfectly shaped, fluffy white clouds and soft gentle breezes. They are all new. Somewhere, high above earth's atmosphere, or in a deep, dark cavern far below us, this is for real! I know it. Just like the red sweater, I remember from my childhood, with its cuffs rolled up three times over, everyone's cast-offs were new once upon a time.