Category: Family and friends

At ten o'clock this morning I was about to take an early morning shower, when the kids barged in front of me saying desperately that they had to take a shower first in order to be ready for work in time.

One after the other it lasted on and on and now it is nearly twelve thirty. After two and a half hours I can finally take my shower.

Sometimes as a father of four kids it's important you have alot of patience.

About a week ago Maarten hooked up again with some girl who was in the same class as he in elementary school. Her name is Robiena and she has blond, curly hair.

Now they are going steady, his first official girlfriend. Two days ago I went into the hobby room and caught them watching television holding hands. Rumor has it that he has even kissed her (on the cheek), but who knows for sure

Now he bought her a nice Valentine's present and went to her house this evening to give her the gift before she leaves for a one week vacation. There Maarten was in the shower for nearly an hour (c'mon you've been in there long enough get out), singing songs and laughing to himself, spraying tons of aftershave and cologne, putting gobs of gel in his hair and combing it just right. Clothes have to look perfect and then off he goes.

I never had a girlfriend at such an early age. Even when I had a crush on someone, I was too shy and preferred to study and read books all of the time.

Vicarious thrills through the daring endeavors of my masterful sons.

Yesterday evening just when Maarten is about to go to his favorite hangout called City-Life I call him over to wish him a fun time and tell him not to come home too late.

Oh by the way, here's some extra cash (5 euros) in case you meet up with a cute girl and want to impress her by buying her a drink.

Maarten is thankful and notes that when I was his age (14) I was a nerd and too shy and never dared to hang around with girls let alone dance with them and buy them drinks.

He remembers most of the things I tell him and is very alert, even if it is slightly painful for me to hear my own words repeated by my ever popular 14 year old pickup artist son.

My father passed away exactly eight years ago today. Eight years may seem like a long time ago, but lately these huge chunks of time can fly by in no time.

So let's see then, since my father was always exactly forty years older than I was, that would have made him ninety-one years old had he survived to this day. Ninety-one, that sounds pretty darn old I'd say.

Although I did not feel that way at the time, in the long run it's probably better that he passed away when he did. Nature had planned it that way.

That torch he had passed over to me way back then is still being held high, and because of this meaningful gift, I am able to carry on to this very day.

Where in the world am I going to put all my computer books?

Now that Lennart has decided to live at home again he has taken over his old room which I had conveniently converted into my working room and library.

Right now there are piles of books spread all over the floor of our sleeping room, which is not the best solution but at least they are readily accessible when I require them as reference.

Looks like my adventurous daughter is having lots of fun in Australia. Traveling so far away while still young is not easy, but as you can tell from the picture below, she's making the best of it. In a couple months she'll be back.

My children and wife keep insisting that our wonderful dog Luca is really really smart and can do all these amazing acts of intelligence. However, I have my serious doubts. She's an okay dog, but she's no super dog that's for sure.

When she is naughty, like when she keeps coming up to sniff my food, lick my plate or pounce at me bashing her sharp paws against my back and side, I raise my voice and say out loud: NO!

I even do the so-called ignore trick where by turning your back to her you are instilling more emotional pain by 'shaming her' that they say that the effect works wonders. I see no difference, as Luca keeps coming back again and again to bug me, until I have to lock her up as punishment. This does not seem too smart to me.

Also when she keeps guard in front of the living room window and sees a bug or spider or other insect on the other side of the glass, she'll keep jumping at it and banging her poor snout against the hard glass surface, again and again without learning. This does not seem too smart to me either.

The other day just for fun my wife bought this big dog puzzle made of sliding wooden panels behind which you can hide tasty treats. The idea is that by sliding these panels back and forth with the paw, the dog learns the gist of the puzzle so that it can instantly snatch up the hidden tasty treats without thinking.

It's been two weeks now, and I am sorry to admit that our dog still hasn't figured it out. Poor Luca gets all frustrated and panics by biting, jumping and sniffing wildly with zero affect.

I think I have proven my point. Mice are a hundred times smarter.

Today our little Luca is one human year old which is equivalent to seven dog years.

Perhaps it might make more sense and be fairer to the dogs out there to celebrate each and every real dog year, as this is surely more meaningful to the dog.

For humans however this is pretty unpractical, and sorry but the master wins.

This is the first year since my father passed away that I somehow forgot to think about him on his birthday (today).

He would have become ninety years old, can you believe that?!

I guess I have successfully taken over the torch from him and am totally independent now.

I received an email from someone asking me if I was the same Kiffin who sat next to her in Mrs. Hall's third grade class in Stockton.

The amazing coincidence is that I was indeed the very same person.

Hard to believe. Isn't Internet a wonderful technology in that regard?

It's nearly impossible nowadays to get anything done downstairs without having Luca jump all over you.

In fact, it's been getting worse by the day and has reached a hopeless stage by now. She's now big enough to jump up on her hind legs and latch her front paws on the top of the table, which bugs the heck out of me.

No matter how often I tell her with a stern voice not to do that, she'll wait a couple minutes before repeating the same stout performance over and over again.

Bad dog. Bad, bad dog!

Everyone says she can't help it. Poor thing is going through an early adolescence during which she needs continuous and immediate attention, doing anything to get it her way.

I'm a bit worried that there's something wrong in her head.

I was feeling so relieved with the four kids finally growing out of this stage, and now this. To be honest, I wouldn't mind selling her, but no one would ever forgive me.

We have this wonderful Labrador Retriever and her name is Luca. Quite an unpredictable and wild beast, but that is alright.

This evening when I took her out for a walk, she was pulling against the leash trying to go this way and that, me trying to control the wildness of the situation but to no avail.

The worst part was when she spotted two ducks waddling over there in the distance, and for the life of me I could barely control her by holding the leash. I felt as if I were holding back a bulldozer, there she was standing on her two hind legs ready to jump and attack those poor creatures.

Pulled into the edge of the water, I reacted just in time so as not fall into the pond, the innocent ducks flying away, and Luca finally realizing that all her efforts were in vain. I am the boss, and she has to realize this. Much to learn and adapt to.

On the final stretch back home, we walked next to each other calmly, like the perfect master and slave. Made our way to the front door, went back inside to the living room.

Now our sweet Luca is sitting quietly on her fancy cushion, reminiscing about all the fine adventures she had experienced today and wondering about all the new adventures to be lived tomorrow.

Life with a dog is not easy, but it is worth it I guess.

Twenty years ago to this very day I became the proud father of my first child, a wonderful son of whom I have become very fond and thankful.

One of the most important dates of my whole life.

My son is now a man, ready to tackle the many challenges in life. I send him off into the real world with love, understanding and confidence (with my fingers crossed behind my back).

What a way to wake up early one sunny Saturday morning. Rolling over to the side and slowly opening my eyes, there is this giant brown dog's head staring back at me, no more than a foot away. That's Luca our cute little Labrador, and when she notices that I see her, she begins to wag her tail wildly back and forth in pure glee. Hey wait a minute, Luca should not be up here on the second floor. She is not allowed anywhere in the house except for the bottom floor. I raise a sleepy voice and point my finger for her to go back downstairs to where she belongs. Luca just thinks it is some kind of game, and she jumps up and down and tries to escape from me. That dog is totally hopeless, that's for sure.

Who could have ever guessed that my youngest son Maarten would get the leading role in the school play?

Makes me feel proud but a little bit nervous at the same time.

My son the future-famous actor?

My father always refused to wear his seatbelt in the car for some weird reason, like such an extra safety precaution was unnecessarily imposing certain limitations on his way of living. That was his right, coasting around town in that gigantic Cadillac. He felt proud to uphold this strange image, no matter how illogical it may have seemed at the time.

No way that anyone is going to make me wear some boring seatbelt when I have better things to do in life. Don't touch the radio! Leave the air-conditioning alone! Everything is perfectly set and predictable, defining precisely how things will happen.

I mean really, why should one restrain oneself with such a useless strapping item, as if that makes sense and it does not?

The truth is: one accident, perhaps a head-on collision, and things would have been different now. But that never happened, nor could it have happened, so who is right in the end? Things could have easily been otherwise, but I am here nonetheless. At least I had the courage to defy my father and insist on wearing my seatbelt, so more than likely I would have survived anyway.

In that small way I was pretty independent, insisting that the seatbelt was safely in place, so that I would not be hurdled through the front windshield, re-enacting those awful scenes filmed especially for us as a warning during drivers ed. to be careful.

Sorry, but I was just a kid at the time, trying to assert myself in some unrealistic logical manner.

Perhaps we should be dancing and shaking each others hands rather than worrying all the time and getting stressed out.

Whatever is meant to happen will happen anyway so let's make the best of it.

Or so I was saying yet again.

Caught off guard I wasn't looking when Luca snatched my reading glasses from off the table. Later that evening, I happened to find them on the floor under the dinner table, chewed up with both lenses scratched and the frame contorted into a nearly impossible shape.

Carefully I bent the glasses back to the original shape (almost) and can see with difficulty through the criss-crossing scratches. You'd think that I would be mad and want to kick that mutt in the the side, but I have come to terms with having a pet and accepted the implications and limitations.

That's life with a dog in the house.

Whatever you do please be careful. Remain alert, position yourself where required, and do not take any unnecessary risks. Life is just too unpredictable in many regards, but in the long run it is up to you to make sure that things happen the way they were expected to happen, or not.

Having a great time without
a single worry in the world,
life couldn't be better.

My long lost son will be returning home in just a few days after having spent nearly nine months in the United States, doing some soul-searching and trying to figure out what life is all about. A heavy chore for a young buck nineteen year old, but I believe he has handled himself well. Even though I will have to be at the airport by six in the morning to pick him up, I cannot wait to see him again. I wonder if he has changed much.

And this is my son Lennart (19) and my niece Colette (3) at some beach in California enjoying each other's presence even if there is a slight age difference of more than fifteen years but that doesn't really matter.

This is Benjy, the father of the Labrador puppy we will soon be adopting. Doesn't he look like a proud dog?

I talked with an old friend the other day. Having just turned fifty years old, he was slightly older in my eyes, hard to believe but true. Nothing much new as life continues as usual, so what else is there to talk about? Have a fun birthday and all of that kind of stuff. Oh yeah, and don't forget that life continues as usual. No matter what.

Every morning when I look at myself in the mirror, I am more and more surprised how much I am starting to resemble my father. Is that me or is it my father staring back from a time past?

There she is that wonderful daughter of mine of whom I am so very proud waiting to move back into the game, eager to score and win this important game. Waiting for the right moment.

This is the house in Los Angeles in which my son Lennart is now living.

Hey Dad I'm still thinking of you even after all these years. Just imagine that today would have been your eighty-ninth birthday. That's pretty hard to believe. Still miss you very much.

Dad and me at the Nut Tree Inn (1964)

Could it really be that my little girl is growing up much more quickly than I ever realized?

At seventeen years she has already become a young woman, almost but not quite ready to tackle the real world outside.

Now is the time to appreciate her as much as possible while I can, before she decides to jump ship and swim away.

This is about the reoccurring case of the missing sweets.

The round plastic container that was only yesterday completely filled with candies has disappeared again. No one will admit to having anything to do with this mysterious disappearance. Look each person squarely in the eyes and through good long practice there is not the slightest giveaway flinch of quilt.

Youthful masters at crime, unusually clever deception, the pile of sweets have vanished into thin air in a flash and no one knows (or wants to show that he or she knows) what happened to these wonderful treats.

Boy it sure is hard for me to believe that Sabien is already fourteen years old.

But she is.

This afternoon in order to celebrate she and her girlfriends will head on over to the bowling alley.

No need for me to come along (and just embarrass her).

Last week I took my youngest girl out for a quaint father-and-daughter squash match in the evening. I started out easy on her, thinking that it would not be very nice as a father trying to prove how great I was.

However, by the end of the forty-five minutes she had completely whipped me: 3-1.

She's only fourteen years old, can you believe that?! I guess the fact that she is playing top level field-hockey here in The Netherlands, can hit a golf ball one hundred and fifty yards with a smooth fade, and aces me on occasion at the tennis court, improves her athletic abilities and eye-hand coordination.

Although I might have lost to someone thirty-four years my junior, I feel pleased to have been able to raise her to the stage where in certain regards she is already starting to pass me by.

Is that my little girl?

Has it really been exactly five years ago to the day that my father passed away?

Funny how even after so long you still miss him as much as the day it happened, if not even more.

So for the last week I kept needling my poor son about the upcoming squash match, asking him over and over again if he was ready to get creamed.

Well this evening the historical match took place.

After a grueling forty-five minutes of sweating and running and jumping all over the place, I have to admit that in the end the better man won of course.

There was this guy a very long time ago who came down the stairs and called my name when he spotted me down there in the distance.

He yelled out 'Hey Gish' in a gruffy and tough guy way.

When I noticed that he held out his hand in welcome, I reacted full of hope by reaching out to give him the well-deserved and friendly handshake.

When my metacarpals began to creak, my tendons were ready to snap and the pain became almost unbearable, that's when I knew for sure that this first meeting would lead to a long-lasting and valuable friendship.

Thanks alot, Baum.

Today my father would have turned eighty-eight, God rest his soul. Now it's up to me to fill in the rest.

For the next week I will be the only man in the house. Both of my sons have gone away for fun and relaxation.

Lennart and his baseball buddies are partying up a storm on the Costa Brava in Spain. Maarten is with his best buddy Bas in some fancy Turkish resort.

In the meantime I will do my best to defend the fort and keep all unwanted intruders at bay.

Happy birthday dear mom...

I tried calling you all evening, but you weren't home for some reason.

Well, I hope you still had a fun and relaxing birthday.

Thea's mother just turned eighty which is quite an accomplish to say the least.

I sure hope I last that long, and if I do that I will be as vibrant and active as she is.

We will have to wait and see what happens to me in the long run, whenever that comes along.

Until then it's one step at a time.

Sorry but I never realized that that piece of soap was in the shape of a flower. Now the mystery has finally been solved.

For the last couple of years, when I was done doing you know what, I washed my hands with that piece of soap on the bathroom sink.

Now that I think about it, I had noticed that it was of an unusual shape. So unusual in fact that to me it only made sense turning it upside down, as that way it lay more firmly in place. It had never ever crossed my mind that that shape was a flower to be returned to its spot with the flower side lying upwards of course...

A beautiful attractive piece of reddish violet soap ready to be fondled by the next pair of hands.

This mystery had been bothering poor Thea for a very long time, that is until she caught me red-handed. So you are the one!

Yes, I was the culprit all along, and I hadn't ever realized it.

Lately at night I have been snoring terribly loud. In fact, last night was an especially noisy one for my wife, and she had to shake me no less that three times to get me to stop.

I do not remember this, but she ensures me that I did not react in a grumpy way, but merely accepted her requests by rolling over and stopping. At least until deep slumber caught me again off guard and the loud snoring rose up again like a volcano ready to erupt.

It does not matter if I lie on my back, on my side or whatever; it has become inevitable that at least once a night I start snoring loudly. I used to never snore, and I was always proud of this.

Now for one reason or another I have become just another unknowing sleeper in the general noisiness of all the other snoring fools.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...

I really don't mind helping my kids with their homework. Those are at least the few moments nowadays that they are willing to sit close to me, listen to what I have to say, and politely thank me. In normal every day life I see them much less, they are embarrassed to be seen with me when they are with their friends, and they seem quite indifferent to the fact that I have been home sitting down stairs most of the evening. I can be useful as a father once in awhile, so at least their is some potential left in that regard.

The poor folks at home do not hesitate to remind me regularly to stop all that rochelen as it sometimes gets out of hand and drives them completely nuts.

Sorry about that, but it has been something I have always had since I can remember. When I was a kid everyone would keep telling me to stop rattling.

You know that you are getting older when you start getting overly irritated by the most trivial things in life, usually those minor issues over which you have little control.

There's only one thing that I hate more than looking for new clothes. And that's looking for new furniture.

As long as I can just sit on it and feel fairly comfortable, that is good enough for me.

However, my wife is much more selective in her choice of the so-called 'perfect arrangement' so I have to be patient and nod my head up and down when it is required.

I am glad that that is all done and over with (I hope).

Every Saturday morning, the weekly issue of the Donald Duck comic strip arrives through the mail slot. The thin magazine plops ever so gently to the floor barely making an audible sound.

Since Tante Rina was visiting today, I decided to leave work early so that I would be home in time to have dinner with her and my family.

The word 'Tante' is Dutch for 'Aunt', though this woman isn't really an official aunt of Thea in terms of being a blood relative.

She has always been a close friend of Thea's mother, which is good enough according to good old Dutch tradition to qualify one for aunthood.

You'd be amazed how people there are here who are called aunts and uncles but aren't really that.

Anyway, we had a good bite of dinner, stuffed ourselves with fine dessert that Thea had especially bought for the occasion, and then retired to the sitting room for a good old cup of coffee.

Now that Marlies has finally had her braces removed after two years and two month, I have to say that I am very impressed how fantastic it has turned out.

As her father, I would not dare to embarrass her by staring directly at her face. However, while casting a quick glance from the corner of my eye, I see a young girl slowly but surely turning into a beautiful woman.

My son told me proudly this morning early just before he was ready to open up all his presents, that as of today he was one millennium old.

For a child just turned ten, I guess there isn't that much of a difference between becoming ten to turning a thousand, now is there?

Of course, even if it is threatening to pour down outside any minute now, the older kids refuse to wear their raingear when cycling to school.

They would be the laughing stocks of the class. You don't want them to look like a bunch of idiots now do you?

Better to arrive drenched to the hilt than give in that you are a loser who listens to one's parents.

You figure it out.

So you figure that this afternoon you would surprise everyone and come home extra early in order to spend some more quality time with the four kids.

You have been working so hard lately that they have not seen you very much the last couple of weeks. That's a shame. Why not give them a pleasant surprise? You walk in the front door, greet everyone with a loud fatherly yell of delight, and stare into emptiness.

Where is everyone?

One is upstairs chatting away endlessly on the computer with ten other kids simultaneously. The youngest is glued to the television watching that yellow sponge Bob bounce up and down under water with bubbles coming out of his mouth. The oldest has just dashed out the door with an overdose of after shave saying he is going to town to hang out with his friends. Finally then, the last one complains and cusses because you told her to be home by eleven thirty, and she runs off anyway saying she has had enough with such lousy parents and is finally moving out for good (see you later also).

Well, there goes your evening.

Or better yet, now you can have fun and relax and enjoy life just like you have always been hoping for way back in the so-called good old days, when the kids were small and crying and needing so much attention.

Congratulations, you've finally got it made.

When I saw Sabien standing up there on the podium singing and waving her hands during the school musical, I suddenly realized how grown-up she looked.

She still had the glowing face of her childhood, but there was something extra shining through. Seeing my little daughter as a young woman ready to bloom touched me deeply, and I almost had tears in my eyes.

Life goes on doesn't it?

In just two days from now, Sabien will be taking part in the class musical on Wednesday evening. She is a little nervous as you can imagine, because it is a big thing. She has this singing act she has been rehearsing for the last couple of weeks (even I know it by heart by now). As a kind of practice session, they tried the skit out today for the third and fourth grade classes, just to get a feel for the upcoming big event. Sabien was disappointed that they made so many mistakes and kids were forgetting their lines. Once the stage was even empty for two whole minutes as everyone panicked not knowing who was next. As an understanding father, I tried my best to explain to her that it was not so important to have everything run absolutely perfectly without any mistakes. Sabien just shook her head, she couldn't figure me out. Boring parents, they just don't know much nowadays do they?

Thea's alarm goes off this morning at six o'clock because she has to work an early day shift, and what does she do? She rolls over and shakes me violently, saying that I have to get up. Come on now, wake up you.

Alright, alright.

I meander downstairs to have breakfast reading the morning paper, and then my wristwatch alarm goes off (at the usual time of six fifteen) and I think: what?! How is this possible? Beep, beep, beep. I am really confused how this possibly could be happening, like time shifting randomly all over the place. One second you are here and the next second you are over there. Until that is, I am standing in the shower roughly fifteen minutes later.

(Notice how many of the time slots interestingly enough seem to be split into fifteen minute intervals).

Thea dashes in the bathroom with the mirrors all steamed up, and she asks grumpily why I let her over sleep, it is so late -- now she has to rush to work...

All of a sudden I get it.

I tell her that her alarm has gone off at the right time, but rather than getting up herself she was so dreamily confused that she thought it was my alarm.

(By the by, Thea's and my alarm clocks sound completely different, but you know how distorted external sounds can sound in dreams).

She could not even remember it so it was hard to convince her that that had really happened. To think that I could have slept a quarter of an hour more and feel that much more relaxed.

Rather than getting mad (my wife is always afraid that I might get mad), I jokingly say that the next time I will get up at five o'clock in the morning in order to make her feel better and make sure I would wake her up in time.

She was glad and/or relieved (and even laughed) that I could take things in stride and not get all worked up about it. No use now getting all irate about nothing, is there?

For Thea's birthday the whole family came up to Amsterdam, picked up Oma, and took the tram into town. After my work, I joined them and we had a fun and relaxing celebration at some Italian restaurant nearby. Hard to believe that Thea is already (?) years old. For me though, she is just as young and charming (and beautiful) as when I first met her more than twenty years ago. Sorry if that sounds corny, but it is true.

Maarten is getting a little wild throwing that soft ball around the house, and you can tell that he is on the verge, getting over excited and all.

I tried to explain that it was Easter Sunday which means that we should be peaceful and think about what happened to Jesus and all.

His answer was that all he cares about is how many chocolate Easter eggs he found and was able to eat up to now.

I guess it is good that he is honest about it.

My youngest son is only nine years old and though he may be a bit small for his age, when it comes to sneezing he can pack quite a mighty explosion. The unexpected and ensuing "aaachooooo..." echoes so loudly that the whole house shakes from its very foundation. My father also had a similar "mighty" sneeze. In fact, when the grandson sneezes I can hear the grandfather sneezing along side, almost like a subtle slightly asynchronous echo in time. Back then I would always get overly aggravated, because I felt my father was exaggerating and purposely discourteous to his surroundings. Now I realize that it just runs in the genes, that that is merely a normal tendency required by natural selection, that the fact that my little boy can also sneeze amazingly loudly really has nothing to do with inconsideration. No not at all. The past lives onwards into the future in many mysterious ways.

So I told Maarten yesterday that he should really appreciate it now as much as possible, remember clearly what it was like, because tomorrow morning he would wake up and he would no longer be younger than ten any more. Batches of ten years are true milestones in one's life, important phases we all go through. Once the door opens and the decades close behind us, there is no turning back. Enjoy the pre-ten years, the single digit mode of existence, because tomorrow it would be no more.

The whole speech had been planned and prepared ahead of time. My tone of voice and gestures were pieces of artistic drama in a beautiful scene called 'My little son goes to bed and grows up (too) quickly.'

There I was telling him all of this with tears welling up in my eyes.

Maarten could only roll over in his bed and laugh at me. Giggle and ha ha ha.

So I asked him why he thought it was so funny.

Turns out that tomorrow is not his tenth birthday, but his NINTH!

I couldn't believe it. So I asked the usual challenge: what year were you born? Without hesitation he answered back 1994 of course. Quick calculation in my head, and yes nine years it was indeed. Stupid, stupid...

Could I be losing it?

Three years ago today my father passed away. Life continues anyway as if there is no stopping it, no end in sight. And there isn't and there won't be. I wonder what he is thinking right now.

While I may not consider myself a master film director, it is still fun anyway to play around with my camcorder. Like trying out new and exciting visual effects. Fell free to check out the following video clip:

It may look like Marlies and I are just staring into the camera motionless, but the truth of the matter is that we are spinning around at high velocity. If you look closely you can spot the background moving by.

Here's a little something I created the other day just for fun. Maarten and I goofing around is all.

Passing the time together in a simple and fun way just making the best of good times while they last. Click around on the round colored buttons in order to operate the pseudo-advanced technical viewing console if you dare.

How could I have completely forgotten your birthday?! Sorry about that, but I still miss you as much as always. You would have been eighty-six years old.

Here's a short video clip of Lennart playing baseball for the Braves. He gets a hit and easily makes it to first base for a respectable single.

 

This afternoon as father and son bicycling on our way to the center of town, I decided that it would be a perfect opportunity to start teaching Maarten to speak better English.

Since Maarten was also in a better mood (we were going to visit toy stores to see what he wanted for his upcoming birthday), he accepted this unilateral agreement of mine without the slightest hesitation. Good boy.

We (I mean I) decided that starting today I would teach him a few new English words each and every day until his vocabulary had become so nearly infinite that he could speak the English language fluently. Dream away young father.

As we slowly but surely approached our destination, I fixed my attention on a number of objects that we passed, and even thought up one adjective. These are the four words I taught him today:

• Bridge
• Tree
• Crooked
• Road

Unfortunately, Maarten like many Dutch folks struggling with new languages, has problems pronouncing the "R" sound, which comes out more like a "W" sound.

Bwidge, Twee, Cwooked, Wode....

But he is doing his best which is good enough for me. The other three kids always refused to learn English, so I felt honored that now I had deserved my first and final chance.

I wonder how long we can keep this study plan going and when Maarten's English will become so perfect that they think he was born and raised in sunny California.

One of the highlights of the year is the first day of school. Summer vacation has ended and it is time for the kids to return to the wonderful world of academia. Time to balance your life with the more important learning activities.

This morning I got up extra early so I would be prepared to escort Maarten and Sabien to their first school day. "So, are you excited to go back to school?" I asked in an overly enthusiastic tone. "Are you kidding," they screamed back in unison, "we hate school!"

We cycled the short distance, and the closer we approached the elementary school, the more excited the kids seemed to become. Despite the fact that they claimed they hate school so much.

When we arrived, the two kids had completely disappeared before I had a chance to park my bike. Running off to see old friends again, get the best seats in the classroom, recount vacation experiences and scope out the new teacher.

I entered the building and from the doorway of each classroom, I had a distant peek to make sure everything was going along to plan.

On the one hand, Maarten and Sabien hate school, but on the other hand they also kind of like it at the same time. Fortunately my kids are fairly normal then.

In this up-close-and-personal video, Marlies introduces herself by welcoming the viewer to her own personal web page and then panning her room to give one a better idea of who she is and where she lives.

We did it after only several retakes, the most difficult aspects being the (back-)lighting which was either too dark or too light, and speaking her lines of text without (too many) errors.

The end result is pretty good I believe, not bad after an hour's struggle and the fact that Marlies is by nature a perfectionist.

Check out the video called Marlies in her room for yourself.

Trying to find decent baseball shoes in The Netherlands has become quite a quest. Baseball is not what you would call a very popular sport here, and the very few sport stores that offer baseball stuff are few and far between, and far away also. Once you get there, the selection is minimal and they just do not happen to have the shoe size you need. Next season (meaning next year) the following shipment will arrive from Taiwan -- of all places. I promised Lennart a good pair of cleats for his birthday, which has been almost a month ago. We finally found a place in the Rotterdam area using the good old Internet. A bit more expensive (125 euros a pair, can you believe it?!) but at least they have the right size as well as a half-decent selection.

Off we go.

I finally got around to doing it after having putting it off for weeks, months, maybe it has even been a whole year by now. Shame on me, bad father, lazy bum. Ironically enough, the whole process took me no longer than thirty minutes or so, and there was minimal stress involved (probably the main reason I had postponed it for so long in the first place).

So what is it that I finally did? I hung up Sabien's new lamp from the ceiling that's what. She had this baby shade from when she was little with smiling moons on it, and she has grown out of it years ago. Doesn't seem like a massive chore now does it? A definite improvement, that's for sure.

Today is my oldest son's birthday. Lennart turned sixteen years old, hard to believe.

In America, it would be a really big deal because he would (hopefully) be getting his driver's license. In Holland, it is a big deal because he is now officially old enough to drink.

In my mind, I see Lennart as a loving and generous person, and I feel very honored to be able to (try to) be a good father to him.

In my never-ending struggle to enhance and expand my computer graphics skills to an even higher eschelon of expertise, I was just playing around the other day with some of the newer features of Photoshop (splicing images), when I came up with the following.

Just run your mouse over the picture and the various elements to see what happens. By selecting a child of choice and clicking with the mouse, you are swept away to the relevant web page.

The fearsome foursome ready for the kill.

Just thought someone out there might be interested and enjoy the picture of my fantastic kids as much as I.

My cute little boy is only eight years old. But when he lets loose one of his impressive sneezes, the whole house vibrates from its very foundations. Like there is an earthquake coming on, and every soul within a radius of fifty yards jumps with a start into the air. Cats and dogs go scurrying away around the corner, and flocks of birds break up and spread out, escaping to the distant horizon. I guess it is a Gish kind of thing. My father had it to the extreme. Unlike my cute little son, my father provided potential victims no warning sniffles, no huffing and puffing beforehand, just one instantly amazing barrage of sneeze particles and tens of decibels of sound spraying all over the place, blowing the house down. Nearly gave me a heart-attack every time. Funny how sneezes of the present trigger the mind to remember associations of the past.

If worse comes to worse, my main concern at this very moment is not whether or not my business works out and I earn enough to survive. My highest priority is raising my kids properly so that they will grow up to be healthy and happy, up-and-running and well prepared to face life on their own as solid adults. I wonder if I will be successful in this regard. Actually, to be honest I feel more hopeful of doing alright on the father than the business front, so in the end at least I will feel I have accomplished something. When it comes time to look back on how things went, I mean.

All four of my children have just loved jumping up and down on their beds using it as some kind of wonderful trampoline that they can never get enough of. With the oldest two, I gave up having to tell them all the time, "stop jumping on your bed, you're just going to break it." This warning never works, no matter how stern I may look or how angry I may make my voice sound. Kids just cannot figure out that bouncing weights the size of children are not good for bed frames, especially those made out of wood. My bed breaking? That's impossible, just doesn't make sense. So after I came back from the fitness center this morning, feeling invigorated and healthy, I spent a large portion of the afternoon fixing Sabien's bed, whose left-side had split right down the middle of the wooden balk. I had already fixed it three years earlier, but even the four evenly-spaced thick screws were in the end not enough to hold back the incessant abuse of jumping kids. The only way to fix it was in fact just to strengthen it with a few more screws neatly drilled into the spots exactly between the original ones. Measure the distance and divide by two. I think it should hold out pretty well. At least until Sabien and Maarten become teenagers and decide to release their pent-up energy in more creative ways. So as you can see, I accomplished something very useful today, the day of rest, and I feel pretty good about it.

To all of you fine readers out there who have taken the time to visit my blog and come back once in a while:

What else can I say?

Well it is that time of the year again, meaning that I have to write and send off loads of Christmas cards. I really hate writing these cards as they seem so impersonal, and does anyone read them anyway? This year I ended up making no less than eighteen, each one a unique variation on the theme, hand-written and full of really meaningful remarks. I am sending them off early because mail to America usually takes at least ten days during the busy holiday season. Do I really have that many family and friends? Not that I mind sending cards to my immediate family, my efforts are certainly well worth it for them. No doubts about that. My problem is that I find cards with nothing more than a signature and/or some printed newsletter in especially bad taste. As if you are receiving a card not out of personal attention, when in fact it is due to nothing less than an automated regurgitation of some address list stowed away in a hidden drawer or coming off of the computer. So in order to practice what I preach, if I send off a card I want to write something personal. That is what I do and that involves alot of extra work. Couldn't I be just like all of the others and sign them off one after the other in quick repetition? Life would be that much easier, but need a challenge to keep me going. Just wanted to send you our warmest wishes for a fantastic holiday season. Hope you have been doing well this year. They say that the year 2003 will be an especially wonderful year. Wishing you lots of good health and happiness. Hoping that your business picks up next year. Let's be sure to keep in touch. Best regards from K. et al. Now tell me if this really is any more personal than a scribbled down signature? Oh well, it is the idea that counts isn't it?

I am so very proud of my oldest son Lennart. Even though he is quickly turning into quite the hooligan, I think I will still keep him.

Actually there is a short story behind all of this. As is the case every weekend, Lennart got out of bed really late this morning. He walked around the house in slow motion like a zombie wearing his pyjamas, until around noon or even later. Nothing unusual about that, but you all know how it goes. Of course, as a proud father who expects so much from his oldest son, I kept complaining and bugging him to get dressed, to go and do something with his life, accusing him of being just another hooligan. "You look just like a hooligan," I kept telling him in an angry impatient tone of voice. Sorry for being such a boring and predictable father.

So rather than get all mad and cuss at me like I am sure many teenage sons his age do malisciously to their fathers these days, he just disappeared behind the computer (again). He felt inspired by my many words of wisdom, and with the help of the creative mind of his genius, which of course he inherited from me, he produced the wonderful piece of art shown above. An interesting way to express yourself I would have to say. Perhaps the computer is good for him in more ways than one.

I am so very impressed. Even if my son is turning into a regular hooligan.

"You haven't got anything to do anyway..." I hate it when my wife tells me that for the hundredth time this week. Whenever she asks me to do yet another chore, and maybe I perhaps do not react super positively about it, volunteering to do it with pizazz, the comment above is her natural reaction. Just another way to make me feel worse, to jab at me so that I will be forced into the activity no matter how I might feel. No healthy man in his right mind likes to admit that he is unemployed (eg. useless), for our sense of masculinity is still strongly based on such things as working hard and bringing home the bacon. Know what I mean? So I have kindly requested that she not use this impolite phrase again, but it still nonetheless keeps slipping out of her to this very day. Is she doing it on purpose? I guess it's a woman's thing to say.

This may sound pretty unusual, but tomorrow afternoon will be the very first funeral in my whole life that I have ever attended in person. Can you believe that? It will be a good old traditional Dutch funeral with black limousines, a mass with a sermon, some hand-shaking and all that kind of stuff. In fact, until a week ago I had never even seen a deceased person before. Seeing a loved one you have known up close and personal lying like that is no fun. Just a discarded life form which has become discolored and gone away, far far away. To think that I have been spared such a ceremony for more than forty-five years is hard to believe, but it is true. That's part of life you might say, but not yet part of mine. In the distant past when the opportunity had arisen, my parents chose to shelter me from the so-called psychological trauma and distress of having to witness such an event. A learning experience which has been missed? Part of growing up? With so much death and suffering in the world, it has finally caught up with me. It is my turn to be normal like all of the other survivors. I am not looking forward to tomorrow afternoon, but I will go through it anyway with a strong heart and determined outlook for the future.

Maarten's eighth birthday morning excitement threatened to become a complete disaster when everyone started arguing and yelling with each other about the most unimportant trivial matters. The parents stood by helplessly trying to remain calm and fearing the worst. Finally, the happy birthday boy could not take it any longer and became unhappy. All within five seconds or less. Maarten had risen out of bed extra early that morning, because he could not wait, getting his hopes up so high, and then all of this nasty yelling and cussing. Tears came to his eyes, and finally poor Maarten ran upstairs crying. What a shame. After consoling him for fifteen minutes or so, the temptation of the colorfully wrapped presents and chocolate birthday cake was too much for him to resist, so he came back down for a second try. This time it was good, really good, and we all forgot about the near disaster which is a regular occurrence for a family of four wild-and-crazy kids.

The way I remember it, the shining sun was beating down on the bleached sidewalk just outside the hospital, and the sun-rays were reflected back up from this glistening surface in such a way that the pinpoint rays caused sharp jabbing pains in my eyes. Sure it was a hot and beautiful day which imbued a sense of inspiration despite the extreme sadness I felt as I walked hand-in-hand with my sisters to the car. We would escape the sadness of reality by driving to the beach for a long and pensive stroll.

It is hard to believe that my father died two years ago. I think that by now I have "almost" recovered. I do not think that any son fully recovers one hundred percent from the death of his father, but that is part of the ways of nature. Carry on the torch so to say. In tribute, I include the following quotation which I think my father also liked.

"To die is to have a mind that is completely empty of itself, empty of its daily longings, pleasures and agonies. Death is renewal, a mutation, in which thought does not function at all because thought is old. When there is death there is something totally new. Freedom from the known is death, and then you are living."
- Krishnamurti, Freedom From the Known (Chapter IX: Time-Sorrow-Death).

My father was also at one time or other interested in this kind of stuff, because he had a modest collection of books by this fine philosopher of life. Whether or not he really read the collection seriously or really believed in it I am not sure, but still I find this quote more than appropriate to the situation and the way I feel about it.

If you are interested in reading the complete chapter and learn more about this stuff, then I invite you to visit my Krishnamurti page.

Alright, so it is finally time for me to prepare myself for the (near) future. In other words, Thea will be starting her new career move one week from this upcoming Tuesday. This means that I have all of next week to be trained in the fine art of housekeeping, taking care of the kids and other more generic activities required to keep my fine Dutch abode intact. My training will be intense, and there is alot for me to learn. By waking up early every morning with Thea, I will receive from her a hands-on course covering such topics as: getting the kids ready for school, cleaning the house, doing the groceries, preparing meals, ad infinitum. What all the rest of the activities will be is still a mystery, beyond my comprehension at the moment, but I hope that it will not be too much to handle. Wait and see. I was thinking about taking notes during this training course, but Thea is confident that I can remember most of what she explains to me without any problems. Oh yeah? We will have to wait and see. At least now I will be producing some more productive energy geared towards holding down the fort and preparing first-hand my four wild-and-crazy kids for the big bad world outside. As the time passes, I will indeed be readying myself for the (far) future. Like expanding my experiences, building up confidence, honing leadership skills and strengthening character. My male side will mesh and then fuse with my female side. Not that adding this to my resume will increase my chances of finding useful work. Actually, I would more than likely be laughed away by those macho business men who make important decisions, eg. whether or not to hire house fathers like myself. Combining this new life with job searching, fitness and meditation should make me a more rounded and balanced individual. Or not.

You would have been eighty-five years old were you still living today. I send you my warmest happy birthday greetings, old buddy. I still miss you, Dad. Have fun and see you later.

Once in awhile, someone tells you something that ends up really sticking in your mind. That is exactly what happened to me while I was visiting the family and friends back in America during my summer vacation a few weeks back. It was a wonderful and sunny day up in the green hills surrounded by Eucalyptus trees. We were all celebrating our reunion with a fun picnic, great food and some friendly baseball. At the end of the afternoon when it was time to say good-bye, my favorite uncle Dick came up to me, gave me a warm hug, and then he whispered the following in my left ear:

"You've got four beautiful children and a wonderful wife. What else does a man want in life?"

Maybe to some this statement may sound trite, but for me it struck a vital chord deep inside of me. It started to make me think. In fact, since he has said this to me, not a single day has passed without me thinking about the kind statement. The comments are now especially true considering the situation in my life.

You know, I need to settle down and enjoy the wife and kids more.

This afternoon Marlies was all excited about picking up her report card at school and collecting her new books for the upcoming school year. When she parked her bike at the playground, she didn't think much of the group of macho Moroccans standing around making noise and acting real tough. No bother, until she returned and then realized that in her excitement she had forgotten to lock her bike. Yes, her bike was gone, and so was the group of teenage hooligans (in the Netherlands there is a big problem with hooligans of this sort coming from minority families). Poor Marlies was very taken back and even had to cry some. She was not so much upset that her bike was stolen, though that was bad enough, as she was upset that I would get mad when I came back from work and was told the bad news. Can you believe that? Seven hundred euro down the drain, the bike is not insured, and there is no way to ever find it again. That is why Thea called me up in the middle of a meeting I was having. She explained matters, and I listened carefully, patiently controlling my temper pretty well I have to admit. Any initial rage triggered by such a discovery underwent a controlled release at that point, and it was tempered due to the formal surroundings of an official meeting. Good going Thea! I had time to have a think, cool down, and later realize that there are more important things in life than getting upset about some stupid bike getting stolen. After the meeting, I called up Marlies to share with her my concerns, and I asked here how she was doing. How were her grades? She read down the list and I was very pleased with her good results. I asked her how it went with her new books, all the time avoiding the issue of the stolen bike. At the end of the discussion, as I couldn't ignore the episode altogether without being artificially nice, I told her that it must feel lousy having her bike stolen like that. Yes, she had to agree, but I did not go into details or raise my voice even a single fraction of a decibel. Sometimes a pause for silence and the healing powers of this invisible father-to-daughter support. Another day, another stolen bike, a bunch of impressive grades, and my daughter who is slowing growing up too quickly.

Too often it is the case that age old differences between members of the same family last much longer than is necessary. A pinpoint of a potentially painful moment in time which was meant to fizzle away the second it stopped happening. And then because of the misinterpretations and perceptions of those involved, the criss-crossing moment of time, and the after-time leading the parties away from that moment, it gets extended to live onwards for some reason. Why this must be so is beyond me. I feel that it is a tremendous waste of time. What may have happened in the distant past is over with and has very little relevance now. I am not proclaiming that one must forget everything completely. That is impossible. However, learning to accept things as they are, how they used to be and how they will never be again is the one and only way to move on with your life. Why get stuck? Otherwise we carry unnecessary weight around with us which leads to one obstacle followed by the next. More frustrations, bad feelings and emotions verging on hatred. What doesn't make sense is for some people an invisible meaning upon which they thrive and acquire incentive. A new meaning in life when there is no obvious meaning available? Perhaps. What I am saying is this. Live for the now and not for what had or may have had happened. Accept each other and direct a common vision to the future. Why wait until consolidation is forced upon us at the deathbed when it is too late? Last moments lying in a muddled awareness of regret, no that is not for me. We just do not have that much time left together to make the best of it is all.

Today marks exactly twenty-two years ago to this very day that I first caught site of Thea and fell madly in love with her. Actually more than likely exactly to this very hour as like now it was around ten-thirty in the morning, if I remember correctly. Twenty-two years is approximately eight hundred and thirty days or seven times ten to the power of eight (followed by eight zeroes) seconds: 700000000. Hard to believe that that was nearly half a lifetime ago. But it is true and I have survived the first half of life well enough with a fine Dutch gal. Not exactly what I had expected my life to become. Thanks to her I have become what I am today. Back then on that fated morning I was leaving a corner store in Balestrand, Norway after having purchased daily food rations for the day. When I saw her walking down the road towards me, I put the grocery bag on the ledge and accidentally sat down right on top of it. The carton of yogurt broke open and splattered all over my pants. With a cute laugh Thea offered me a paper napkin to clean myself off. The rest is history, the main reason I am still living in Holland of all places. Life continues. Even to this very day I remain open to coincidence trying to seize the moment as best as possible. I am still madly in love with her, though compared to twenty-two years ago this love has taken on a slightly different, higher and more meaningful form.

Remember when Maarten had a terrible fall the other day? We were very relieved that his injuries weren't that bad. Just cuts and bad bruises, at least we hoped. Well as it turns out, Maarten's thumb is broken afterall. Because it was on a Sunday, only a doctor's assistant had had a cursory look at the X-ray and hadn't found anything unusual. However, later this week a qualified radiologist inspected the pictures in more detail and quickly came to the definite conclusion: yes, Maarten had fractured his thumb! Albeit a small hairline break it was broken nonetheless. During the last couple nights poor Maarten was complaining alot about the awful pain, but we just gave him aspirin hoping he would shut up. Now he has a nice bright blue cast as proof, his prize, starting at the upper half of his forearm and eventually covering his thumb and hand where his fingers poke through. Now Maarten holds an all time Gish record having broken a limb twice in his life. At the early age of seven years old. Up to now the record holders were tied at one, the others being: Kathleen who at three had broken her collarbone when I rolled into her and caused her to crack her arm on the underside of the metal bed frame; and I who had broken his left tibia when Donald Conant (sic) had tackled me during a friendly football match at the Monterey Park Elementary School playground when I was twelve or so.

Today Maarten was not paying enough attention while speeding down the road on his bike. He crashed into the back end of a parked taxi cab and had a terrible fall. There he was standing at the front door explaining to me what had happened. In his own words:

"I was on my bike and I looked back just for a second and then I looked and there was this car and then I crashed into it. This is how I fell on my arm and bam went my thumb and then I went under the car and my bike skidded ontop of me and I couldn't get out. I was trapped under the car and there was this nice lady and she lifted up my bike and pulled me out from under the car and I had to cry but she was really nice to me and then..."

Indeed, when I looked at his excited talking expressions and gestures with his arms, I could see how badly injured he really was. It could have been much worse I knew. His left arm was scraped badly on its underside, he had gouged both of his knees, his left thumb was purple and swollen twice as big as normal and on the left side of his head just above his temple he had a beauty of a bump which was a black and blue dome poking out. It could have been worse, so I should be thankful, I was thinking.

So what do I say as a boring parent trying not to sound overly concerned? Just comfort him is all and let him explain it all to get the extra energy out. Just listen and nod my head and show concern. Give him a hug afterwards. I felt like asking him why he was so careless and why he wasn't looking like he should have been. But I didn't. Our conversation went instead something like this:

Me: "so then what did you learn from all of this?"

Maarten: "well I just looked back for a second was all."

Me: "yeah, but what did you learn?"

Maarten: "real quick is all and then real real quick back but the car was there."

Me: "you learned that it is not such a great idea riding your bike while looking behind you, right?"

Maarten: "just a tiny itsy-bitsy second was all not even half a second."

Me: "yes I understand, but that's all it takes now."

Maarten: "yes."

Me: "so will you be more careful next time?"

Maarten: "yes, next time I will try to look behind me much more quickly if I have to."

Me: "hmmmm..."

Maarten: "less than half a second less than half a half of an itsy bitsy second is all, okay?"

So I bent down and gave him a big hug, trying not to hurt his sensitive injuries by accidentally squeezing him in the wrong places.

He is such a wonderful and cute little boy that I would hate it so much if anything ever happened to him. But these kids have to grow up and become independent on their own with us parents trying not to get in the way too much.

Maarten: "can I have a Coke now?"

Me: "sure, if you let me have a sip."

Maarten: "kay!"

Today was Thea's birthday, and as tradition has it we took the four kids to Amsterdam for a fun and relaxing Sunday family outing. We parked the car on the outskirts of town (to save on parking costs) and took the tram to the Centrum where we got out at Leidseplein. From there we walked and zig-zagged all over the place, eventually making our way to Kalverstraat, Spui, Singel to look at number 378 where Thea and I used to reside romantically (a monument originally built in 1630), and then we meandered all the way down to Damplein. The weather was just perfect and the sun was shining. There was this cute art market where we found a couple of nice, colorful paintings just perfect for our house. Finally we sat down and recovered at an old brown cafe called De Schutter (I used to always go there during my first year in Amsterdam and write in my journal pretending I was some kind of future famous philosopher writer). Back to the car via the tram, and lucky Maarten could stand in the front of the tram, right next to the driver who was pressing all these buttons and making announcements for each stop. We got off where we had originally got on (except it was on the other side of the tracks of course) and went back to the car, driving the last ten minutes to Thea's parents' house in Osdorp. There we had some coffee and tasty chocolates and spent an hour in idle chat. At last we drove back and made it back home in time to put Sabien and Maarten in bath and then off to bed. All in all a full day.

While Thea was shaving my head this evening, I realized something very interesting and asked her, "Do you realize that now you have known me for more than half your life?"

Thea hesitated for a second and responded with a (somewhat) surprised tone in her voice, "Yes you are right. That is hard to believe."

"For me," I said "it was all worth it." I was thinking that on my next birthday I will also have also known Thea for more than half my life. That is hard to believe but true.

To think that almost half a lifetime ago I had met Thea in Norway purely by accident during my random travels. Fate and/or chance and/or meaningless criss-cross and/or symbolic gesture from above and/or the way it was always meant to be and/or just nothing to ponder. Take your pick if you dare.

Today my oldest son Lennart turned fifteen. Hard to believe. For his birthday he received a number of gifts related in one way or other to the art of war. Some books about the second world war and a sidewinder game voice thingibob from microsoft. Now he can not only read up on all kinds of battle strategies and tactics, but he can also experience them first hand in cyber space using this complete voice solution contraption. It is a headset with a microphone, headphones and voice command module. Lennart can now take part in multiplayer clan battles on the internet, and with this state-of-the-art gadget he sends vocal orders to a specific member of his battalion or broadcast to the whole group at once. "Okay Joe, strafe those guys over to the left," or "Jim, cover me!" or "Watch out for that grenade!" Amazing stuff, although it sometimes gets on our nerves when he raises his voice while in the heat of the battle. You might want to check out Lennart's clan site International Combat Federation (ICF) where he keeps track of all activities, rankings and upcoming tournaments for his clan of fine soldiers. My son must first pass the stage of cyber warrior before he goes on unprotected into the real world wherever and whenever that is.

Hurrah, Thea had her second interview yesterday, and you will never guess what happened. She finally got accepted!

Starting this October she will be starting her new direction in life as trainee for the Dialysis and Clinical Nephrology department at the Groene Hart Ziekenhuis.

We are all very happy for her. It was not an easy process for Thea. At first she was rejected after the first interview because they thought she could not handle combining the demanding efforts of raising four kids and of a demanding work tempo at the same time. That sure is unethical, and they cannot reject a woman because of her family life! Thea did not give up, demanded that she be given another chance, and she was invited for a follow-up interview. That was yesterday at three in the afternoon. This time she was better prepared (in part thanks to me, though I tried to refresh her with a more business-related tactics) and she was able to impress them with her unending enthusiasm.

There will be an intensive training program in Rotterdam where she will have to learn all the technical aspects of running the various machines, hooking up the tubes and that kind of thing. She will be working a full four days a week and I will be expected to take more care of the kids, bringing them to school and going later to work. But that is fine. Don't we live in the modern times? Women are also entitled to developing themselves and moving up on the career ladder, so I support her whole-heartedly.

(My father would have referred to me as a "hen-pecked" husband, letting my wife get away with all this nonsense.)

But we find ourselves in the new millennium and times are changing (for the better). Women have been repressed (by men) for too long and the husbands have been put here on the earth to help them out. So what if I might be a sad case. At least I will be getting closer to true balance.

In celebration when all went out to a local Chinese restaurant called The Rose Garden and ate and laughed and had a great time. The kids behaved themselves very well, and even Maarten finished his plate of noodles.

Isn't one of the better parts of life achieving balance in as many dimensions as possible? Yes, I firmly believe that it certainly is the way to go. Way to go!

I have been reminded on a number of occasions that I have the tendency to chew too loudly. Chew too loudly, what does that mean? Well basically the chomping sound of my upper and lower teeth meeting forcefully is loud enough that it easily irritates those poor souls sitting adjacent to me. This is especially true for family situations where children are more easily distracted and irritated by any and all eating noises, e.g. smacking, slurping, licking, gulping, etc. So what can I do about this unsavory habit of mine? I have tried to chew ever so quietly, but that is very difficult for me. By repressing natural urges from within, my eating pleasures are reduced drastically. I cannot for the life of me chew quietly, there is an instinct within me to chomp down hard, the harder the better. So why do I do this in the first place? Is it some feeling of inner frustrations, excess energy that has to be released through the actions of biting down hard and with more force than necessary? Could be, if you look at it that way. Chomp, chomp, release, then swallow hard, the next bite, chomp, chomp, and then the cycle will repeat itself. Okay, if I am sitting alone it should not matter, but if I am eating next to other people, I guess I should be more a responsible father, fellow worker, citizen of society. This is similar and can be compared to the art of coughing or sneezing. If you are alone you can just let it go and spray the mucous droplets all over the place. However, if you are in the company of important people, say your neighbors or the royal family or whatever, then you must resist the urge to sneeze or simply hold a handkerchief to you nose in order to sneeze ever so casually and politely at the same time. Sure it does not feel as good as letting it all go all over the place, but as far as retaining and not risking your formal relationships are concerned this is by far the preferred choice. The same applies to eating I guess. Rather than spray chomping and biting sound waves every which way, I must learn to chew softly and quietly for the sake of formalities. Can you teach old dogs new tricks? There I am giving into society again, what I am expected to do. That is the way life comes and goes and we must adapt in one way or the other.

I was never meant to be a teacher, because I have very little patience. This is especially true with one's wife where irritation is an inevitable consequence of that man-woman battle of wits. Technology versus intuition, who is going to win? First of all, Thea has been trying to learn Microsoft Word, and this morning she was practising with some excercises from her computer class which she attends every Thursday. She is still in the basics, and for someone like me who has been working with Word for almost ten years now, the gap in expertise is impossible to bridge. For example, centering text, using different fonts, that kind of thing. Not knowing when to double-click or when a single-click is enough. After having to repeat things more than two times (that is my limit) I lose patience and blow my stack. Why is this all necessary? The second example involves the use of our wireless telephones at home, so-called Dect phones. There are all kinds of fancy things you can do like putting someone on hold, transferring to another phone, handling call waiting, switching between incoming calls and internal calls, that sort of thing. But my wife has a heck of a time figuring this out also. Of course, I lose patience again and can get so mad, wondering why she just does not get it. Okay, it's simple. Just press here then select the R-button for the transfer. Wait until the other person picks up the phone and then hang up. Simple, isn't it? Could not be simpler. She gets confused and presses the R-button too early and then after retrying for the second time does the transfer okay but hangs up before I have the chance to pick up the other phone. At one point I was seriously wondering if she was just doing this on purpose just too bug me. No she was not, she is just not that technical she confesses. Alright then, I can forgive her for that. She always has to do the bills and the taxes for us, and that is an area of which I have absolutely no understanding, no patience, could care less about. Thanks alot Thea for doing that for me. I will try to be more patient in the future.

This afternoon Lennart and I decided to head on into town on our bikes and hang around. You know, the usual father-son type of activity. Lennart is at that age when he doesn't have that much to say, so I can really appreciate the few times we spend together like this. When we did speak, we discussed his latest computer escapades, the new army clan he has started and the various multi-player tournaments he has organized for other so-called soldiers from around the world. Well, after having done the chores we had been assigned to do, we decided to award ourselves for the fantastic job we had done. So we bought ourselves a new Playstation2 games called Air Combat Distant Thunder, the latest and hottest genre-defining flight video mission game around. Of course, the moment we returned home, we dashed up to the new "entertainment headquarters" and fired up the fantastic game. Lennart was a born ace of course and I had alot of trouble figuring things out. Like how to turn the aircraft, which is pretty fatal if you cannot even maneuver in the air. You fly straight and just hang there like a sitting duck just waiting to be blown up by the enemy. Lennart was buzzing all over the place, shooting me down on average about every fifteen seconds. Killed would flash on the screen in bright red colors. I often just crashed for some unknown reason, and more than once smashed my plane into the side of some stupid mountain. What was I doing wrong? Turned out that when you want to go left, you first have to turn left and while your aircraft is pointed to the left you have to elevate in order to make the turn. Otherwise you just keep spinning around and around. Sorry, didn't know that. But now I do, so watch out. Life is great fun because you get to learn new things every day.

My oldest daughter Marlies is a very sweet thirteen year old, but she does have what you could call an explosive personality. This means that when something goes wrong, no matter how trivial or seemingly insignificant, she will explode in rage and start screaming. It has to do with learning to deal with unexpected obstacles, frustrations, letdowns and that sort of thing. This behavior is perfectly natural for that transitory age from childhood into puberty, but I just thought it would be interesting to mention it anyway. Sometimes this explosiveness can take on an exaggerated form, so much so that it appears at times to be artificial, like an act to get our attention. But it is very serious and should be attended to immediately in order to prevent it from exploding outwards without control. Here is an example that should offer some insight into the situation. This morning everyone was lazy and slept out until past ten o'clock. We decided that the weather was too nice to waste it by just lying in bed the whole morning, so we got up to take a shower. Unfortunately for us, that was exactly the same moment that Marlies was also planning to take a shower, but while I was ready in my underwear carrying the towel under my arm, she was still dallying aimlessly in her room. Boy was she mad when I so-called cut in front of her, yelling and complaining that she had to shower at that exact moment and not a second later. Too bad, I took my shower anyway and she just had to wait. That is life and it is never too early to get used to these disappointment, however trivial they may seem. The ironic thing is that Marlies takes after her father (me) not only in intelligence (she is a genius) but also in her personality. I am also quite impatient and find it difficult to deal with obstacles in my path, especially when my goal is within site. Could be the genes, chemical, an attitude, or whatever, but this is not important. By watching one's children one acquires many insights into the way one really is, watching in effect oneself in a mirror where time is rewound back to childhood.

The great thing about Maarten is that he is still young, spontaneous and happy with most things in his life. Something for which we should all strive, even in our coming old age. Even if you are still young. Maarten can be a real goofball and jokes around alot, acting weird but in a fun kind of way. The film clip below attests well to this fact, if you know what I mean. Okay everyone, each morning before you go to work, stand in front of the mirror, look at yourself, and do the exactly as the following film instructs you to do:

Maarten goofing around and making funny faces.

I know for a fact that you will feel much better afterwards, that you will be much more relaxed and therefore productive at the office. This I know based on my own personal experience. If you forget to follow these instructions, it is not recommended that you try to make up for your oversite by practicing in the office bathroom. You will receive strange looks and might even get fired. Be careful out there in the real world.

Believe it or not, today is Joe's birthday. He will turn forty-five years old. All I can say is: Happy Birthday dear Joe! Don't forget that forty-five is a nice round number and it adds up to nine. Think about and enjoy the new present as our two paths continue almost to cross. If you know what I mean. Who is this Joe character you may be asking? Well, just put it this way. He is an old Stanford buddy from days past whose existence still echoes mine. Later man.

It is now official: Marlies is now thirteen years old, meaning that she qualifies as a full-fledged teenager in and out. A very happy moment in time that we have celebrated in true style the whole day.

That means that half my children have grown up already to become real live future adults. Makes me feel good as a proud parent, but at the same time thinking twice about how quickly the time of youth is flying by. Vicarious youth. It is important to give them sufficient attention. Believe me, I do that perhaps in an extreme manner, because I am by nature an overly sentimental person. At then same time, you do not want to smother them too much. Just give them enough breathing room, and let them go.

Someday, someday soon. Mentally this becomes a difficult exercise in surrender.

Enjoy things while they last.

Poor little Maarten is sick. He has the flu and has been lying in bed for two days now. While I feel sorry for him, at the same time I cannot help thinking to myself how cute he looks with his little sad, red face calling us once in awhile with his squeaky high-pitched voice. Of course, this means that at night he gets the honor of sleeping next to his mother (she insists) and I get banished to Maarten's bed. This is always an interesting experience, and I do not mind really. It is comforting being surrounded by his many stuffed animals, and there is a certain soft smell of his sheets and pillow that soothes me. Let's say it kind of reminds me of when I was little. A mental relapse triggered by smells and tactile softness bringing me back to the good old world of childhood. I slept deeply and woke up renewed, holding Maarten's favorite teddy bear in my arms cuddled to my chest. Now I have to go to work.

Today marks exactly ten years ago since God gave us that wonderful gift we now are blessed with: Sabien. She is our youngest daughter and the third out of four wild-and-crazy children. Ten years ago exactly, that is hard to believe. I can still remember it as clearly as if it were yesterday. For her party I took a group of her friends, five girls and one boy who lives across the street, to Ayers Rock in Zoetermeer where you can learn climbing. Boy, what a handful of spontaneous energy kids of that age have. So very refreshing and happy. Of course it was a birthday party, so I guess it is perfectly normal that everyone is in a good mood. Yet there is some wonderful quality of children which cause sparks in my mind to alight, a grin on my face and a feeling of thankfulness that I can observe all of this.

We were all once that age (except for those readers that may happen to have been born later of course, not that many I believe). It is refreshing to absorb the warmth once in awhile to gain insights into human behavior. How we as boring adults can be more playful, open and spontaneous. Let's not get too boring in our old age. Do not forget the small child who was you and who is still within you somewhere deep inside. He still needs enough attention, the child inside of us.

It is time to turn around the corner again, yet again. But first the usual holiday celebrations, including Christmas which is tomorrow. Turn around the corner again. Brings back old memories, some from a long long time ago, others that seem just like yesterday. Or so it seems. Trying to fall asleep in bed, so very excited about the next morning. All those presents, hearing my parents collecting all the boxes from the attic and carrying them downstairs. Try to sleep, try to sleep. Make the bed spin in my mind. I am lying in my bed, falling, falling. I could make myself fall into a deep and dark gorge, falling and spinning. Spin to the right and then to the left. Twist and turn at my mental command, spinning and tumbling. I have been unable to do that for a very long time. Since I was a kid, but it seems just like yesterday. Back then it would help me fall asleep, when most needed. Like the evening before Christmas. No more. Now it is my turn to be the parent, to put the presents out. I hope the kids don't wake me up too early in the morning. Nine o'clock at the earliest, I told them, and not a second earlier. Boy, kids-at-heart sure get boring when they turn into adults. I am a kid-at-heart, turning around that corner again.

Amazing piece of art (enlarge)

Alright so my seven year-old son Maarten has turned out to be a real prodigy, an amazing artist. One evening when it was time for him to go to bed, I could not find him anywhere. I made it up the stairs to the attic room. There he was hard at work and concentrating behind the computer, making a very curious drawing using the simple Paintbrush program that comes with Windows. What was he thinking? What creative thoughts arose and combined to cause him to make all of this? What does it mean? With such a simple tool, he was able to figure out how to make an amazing piece of art. Probably sounds like I am bragging, but surely I am not at all. Check it out and judge for yourself. Keywords: colorful, repetitive, faces, bright, lines at right corners.

Routine again. Every morning during the week, the same predictable series of events come and go. That is what is called routine, and there is unfortunately not much one can do to prevent it. That's pretty much how life goes, and it allows us to survive better if we know what has to be done next and what we will be accomplishing as the hour before work passes by. The trick is to let it come as it was always meant to be and not get overly stressed if you are running behind schedule (most of the time anyway, one extreme or the other). So what is this series of events? This is the timeline: wake up, get out of bed, open up the window for fresh air, shower and shave, eat breakfast with the kids, help Thea without getting too much in her way, go upstairs, fold my pyjamas and put them under the pillow, make the bed, collect my stuff, finish getting dressed, stare in the mirror, put on my dress shoes, straighten my tie, scratch the stubbles on my face, close the window, go down stairs again, remind the kids that they have to get ready, tie a shoe and/or put on another coat, wake up. I usually wake up by noon, or thereabouts.

Been chatting alot with Trudi in the evenings. Over the Internet that is, using AOL instant messaging. She is an acquaintance from the good old Salinas High School days. Idle chit-chat late in the evenings. Could this be what they mean by cyber-s#x? Probably not. She is a fine gal, positive and offers me kind words of inspiration. Just for fun. All the while listening to digitally imported trance music, great stuff blaring in my ears. Never too young.

Now Marlies, Sabien and Maarten are all playing field hockey. All my kids except Lennart (the lazy computer whiz-kid still). Who would have ever thought that they would get involved so much in this typical Dutch sport? This morning I went to watch Marlies, like all good fathers in order to support the daughters. Of course, not too loudly as you can easily embarrass them. Even by doing nothing and just standing there. Well there they were running around, all those future young ladies. Such long and skinny legs they have, spindly creatures that seem so fragile. I think that most of them are seventy-five percent legs and the rest torso. Future wives who will hen-peck their boyfriends and/or husbands. Bosses of the world. When I look at Marlies and how distraught almost-to-tears she was at losing yet another game, this is hard to imagine. But it is true.

Why are kids so difficult to get to school early in the morning? Seems like an amazing hassle for something so simple. Yet the amount of energy expended, repeating things a hundred times before it is done, bugging each other, fighting and wrangling. Put on your shoes, do not forget your lunch, take your coat, put on your shoes, hurry up you will be late, bring your books, put on your shoes... What a chaos. The older they get the better they behave, most of the time at least. Okay, that's a short scene from my life pretending to be a father in order to impress my kids. Next.

So Maarten is now officially seven years old. Yesterday we celebrated his birthday in style, and after stuffing ourselves with lots of cake and letting the kids run around the house like complete maniacs, we drove to "de Sniep" which is a tropical swimming pool nearby. Where do those kids get all their energy from? Constantly moving, running, jumping, climbing. Non-stop. Thea and I just sat there calmly in our plastic chairs like good parents should, pretending to have the situation completely under control, at least being available for personal conflicts and other so-called emergencies. I figured that if one were to harness the energy from all the kids that afternoon, then you could probably have enough to light up the town of Gouda for a couple of days, at least. As adults we have lost much of this youthful spontaneity, carelessness, just being naive and unknowing. We are all just children of artless grace and simple goodness. To be more accurate, I should say that this is true only on the outside. Within each of us there still lives in one form or another that child we once were in the distant past. Some people are more sensitive to this presence than others.

Exactly one year ago today my father passed away. Even after all this time to accept things as they really are, in my heart I am still not one hundred percent convinced that he is "really" dead. Where is he then? Strange but true. I will not dwell on the matter here, as I have spent enough time and energy collecting my thoughts on the death of my father. I just felt that a short entry in my blog was a necessary tribute to my father who still means alot to me.

Maarten

Hurrah! Maarten finally passed his swimming test this afternoon for the first so-called A-diploma. An amazing feat, of course. Just in time for his seventh birthday. Seven years old already? We are very happy, and relieved. All those tiring mornings over the last year, his crying fits, poor Maarten struggling and feeling frustrated, swimming laps back and forth, etc. has turned out to be well worth the hassles. He can now officially swim on his own. That is good in a country with so much water everywhere. Though he doesn't show it, I am certain that he is now more confident about himself and his abilities.

One of the most difficult dilemmas of parenthood (at least it is for me) is watching your children grow up while at the same time trying to hold on to them. For loving and overly protective parents like myself, you want to remain close to them while the child wants to become independent and distant. This is of course a necessary and essential part of the whole process of maturation. One loses contact, communication becomes strained and at times totally nonexistent, and irritation arises. The child wants to become himself and considers attention from the parents as encroachments on their privacy. "How was school today?" "Grumble... "What did you do?" "Moan..." "What's on your mind?" "Nothing..." "And..." "Just leave me alone!" The best thing to do is respect them as adults, let them be, and have the trust and confidence that all will in the end turn out all right. There is nothing else you can do as a parent, except perhaps guide and coach them ever so carefully from a distance and be there when they need you in difficult times. I am sure that this has happened a million times over throughout the history of mankind, but I have to experience it for myself.

He would have been eighty-four (84) years old had he still been alive. Happy birthday Dad.

My mother has just confirmed it via email as proven in the entries of my father's war diary. He was indeed on the USS Meade with the hull number DD602, as I had already announced on my homepage. My father went aboard on August 22, 1943. He lists all the officers on the ship on the first page of his diary. The captain was named John Mumholland. My father relieved an R.J. Lovett. During his voyages at sea he visited the Fiji Islands, New Zealand, Tarawa, etc. He also later served on the USS Cogswell which he boarded on January 11, 1944, continuing his mission to the Marshall Islands, Saipan, etc.

You'll never guess who I talked to the other day. Alfred Nakatsuma, an old Stanford buddy from years and years ago. The last time I saw him was more than fifteen years ago when he visited me in Amsterdam when we were living in a monument house next to the Singel Canal. Wow, that's a long time ago or so it seems. The other day I received an email from Alfred who was in India. He would be in Amsterdam for four hours at Schiphol Airport in transit back to the States. He did not know when that would be exactly which made it difficult to plan seeing each other, but he would give me a call anyway. So early Thursday morning when I was still in bed the phone rang. It was good old Alfred after all these years. How you doing, I'm fine, that kind of stuff. Brief, casusal, slightly superficial, but really great to hear his voice again after all these years. No use trying to recount everything that has happened in the last fifteen years, but what to say? Before I realized it we had talked about ten minutes and the telephone line went dead. Boom, the last coin had been used up probably. Good-bye and let's keep in touch.

While it has been nearly a year ago since my father passed away, I still often think about him. Without warning, he pops up in my mind and this vision causes me to become sentimental about the past. Usually he is younger, about the age when I was a kid, and in his face I am reminded of a number of qualities which I feel I have acquired from him. Subconsciously as well as physical. A brief glimpse, and just as suddenly as he appeared, he fades away. Way deep inside I feel a little sad, especially when I am reminded of the last days I spent at his bedside in the hospital. He wanted to tell me something but couldn't because of that lousy breathing tube in his throat. Damn, if I had only arrived a couple of days earlier, or if he had picked up the telephone when I called at the beginning of the week, he could have told me something perhaps. Oh well, I will have to wait a few more years before I meet him in person to find out what it was if anything.