Netherlands = Waterlands

It has been many years since I've flown into Amsterdam, normally I fly to Dusseldorf as Emirates didn´t fly to Amsterdam until recently, and it´s not far from my mother´s place in Brabant.

But Emirates has added Amsterdam to its destinations and it was a pleasure seeing my small homeland's many waterways and canals shimmering in the winter sun when I flew in yesterday afternoon. I was overwhelmed and delighted at the amount of water I could see. The polders looked so pretty, so green. I loved the patterns the ´slootjes´ (ditches) made. I felt a sense of endearment as I looked at the pretty little houses, the neat little roads, the churches with their lovely towers. I felt great love for this country, and joy as if visiting an old friend, which this country is and it holds many actual old friends.

I noticed a castle below, but was unsure which one, I couldn´t identify the towns or roads below, and I felt a pang of unDutchness which sometimes comes to me. I grew up in the Bollenstreek, really not very far from the airport and I felt I should have recognised the towns, or even the freeways. But eleven years in Australia has addled my memory a little.

My sister and my mother were there at the airport, each with a lovely white rose, which are now sitting in a vase next to me, alongside a lovely white orchid. We ate some lunch there, and courtesy of my jetlag I felt perky and cheerful since my body was convinced it was the evening and dinnertime. But my rusty Dutch hampered the way I wanted to chat to the women who have known and loved me best for all of my life. It always takes me a while to flip the switch from Aussie to Dutchie.
When we walked out of the airport it was a bit of a shock to feel 4°C again after at least six years, normally I visit Europe in summertime, but it wasn't unpleasant. There is something crisp and fresh about the European cold that I can't quite feel in Australia.

Then, Mum drove me home to Elsendorp in the setting afternoon sun, with a blanket on my knees. I barely recognised the revamped freeway, eventhough I drove there myself less than a year ago. It now has many lanes, and gave a very modern impression. I watched and watched as I took in all that is so familiar to me, but it's becoming less and less like home. I could see Holland like a tourist, like it's a foreign country, which is not at all bad. I enjoyed it.Very soon I had to close my eyes, squinting against the sun and as they were closed, my jetlag soon got a hold of me and put me to sleep.

It is always a joy arriving home to Mum's house every year, the cat taking me in with a suspicious "who are you again" glare, the scent of her house, it fills me with a sense of peace. But this time it is bittersweet. It may very well be (I refuse to say 'is') the last time I will arrive home to this house, as we have to sell it. It makes me very sad, and now I look at everything with departing eyes - thinking "I will have to sell/throw away/move that soon". I have not yet come to terms with it. Yet that is the task I came here for. I have quit my job, left my husband for at least the next four months, and chose to help my Mum, who deserves more than just my help, but it's the only thing I can offer her and I know it's more than she would ever ask for.

But still it was very very nice to get here, to sit at the dining table in the winter sun and eat Mum's trademark vegetable soup, and hear the church bells chime every half hour. She showed me her 'new' place, a rental apartment attached to the local general store which she now manages. It was hard for me to see the potential she so obviously sees in it, to me it looked so depressing, boxy and tiny.

By seven pm I was asleep, only a second after realising I was once again curled up in the warm safety of my Dutch bed, feeling the happiness that comes with coming home.
That curse of a jetlag, however, had me awake at 2.30 am, tossing and turning with my brain in overdrive. My body was under the impression it was lunchtime, I felt peckish and wide, wide awake. Not to mention extremely overwhelmed at the thought of having to move my mother into a place I feel is not where she belongs. I feel she deserves so much to stay here, in this lovely house, as she is such a wonderful, wonderful giving person, who has done nothing but support me and provide for me all my life, like she has for so many others. Which is how she has come to be in this position. Tears were soon streaming down my face. I climbed out of bed, pushed aside the curtain, stared at the church tower lit up next door, saw the stars flickering in the freezing sky and thought about how powerless I felt. I heard my mother in my head telling me one of her many wise sayings 'If you can't sleep, don't sleep.' So I went downstairs to get the laptop, and a 'stroopwafeltje' (Dutch wafer biscuit with caramel) and started Googling 'how to raise money to help someone'. I didn't get much useful information for my specific goal. I roamed the net a bit, posted a picture on Facebook and finally, finally I managed to go back  to sleep.

This morning was pleasant, waking up to tea with Mum, accompanied by a packet of theebeschuitjes/Langetjes (long cinnamon biscuits) which have been part of our first cup of tea in the morning as long as I can remember, my Oma (grandmother) always had them too. It was also accompanied by a good conversation with my mother about her having to move, and how she feels about it. She says she doesn't mind having to move, says she's never saved throughout her life, she has spent, she has gone places and bought things and enjoyed everything, doesn't regret a moment of it and now she feels rich with the memories of her life. Money has never mattered to her, it is just a means to obtain happy moments.

I unpacked, showered, and came downstairs to find Mum's dear friends over for coffee, and 'Carnaval' (an annual Dutch festivity celebrated mostly down south, which comes with much, much silliness, dressing up and parades with floats and music) thumping and cheering down the streets of tiny Elsendorp. We dressed up warmly and stepped outside, witnessing 15 different groups in their various get-ups parading by, most people known and named by my mum's friend next to me. It was warming and fun to see the cheer on these people's faces, to see this old tradition bring joy to a remarkable little town, not adverse to a party. A town that my mum is bound to in so many ways, which owes so much to my mum, which is her home and happiness.
I joked that I was pleased that Holland was so glad to have me home that they've thrown such a big party, with music and parades and everything.

The afternoon went quickly, dinner was early as Mum has a meeting this evening up North, and I'm staying home to nurse my jetlag. Which, to be honest, is behaving surprisingly well today. I got up around 9 am this morning and I haven't felt tired all day, and it's now nearly 8 pm and I still feel quite awake! I chatted to two dear friends via Skype, one who has just moved to Minnesota and one who is in France. And then I decided to make a blog about my time here. I have not written for years, not in a meaningful away, and I have a diploma in Professional Writing and Editing, plus a masters in Creative Writing. One should think I might write a bit more than I do. But that's a different story. I might blog about that another time. For now, this'll do. Good night. Or morning, to you Aussies. x