Lock down 22, Pandemics and art

Today (26^th)I listened to the Choral Evensong which we recorded last Thursday in church. It was a surprise to hear what we had done, although I think my voice did not pay a very important part in it all. Fortunately, we have a wonderful soprano, who “carried” the music. But whatever I thought of my own contribution, I thoroughly enjoyed singing the service and it made me very happy.

Because of our lock down I thought of a church only one road length away from our own church, The St Antonius Abt on the Scheveningse Weg, the road that connects Scheveningen with The Hague. Not many people may know this Roman Catholic church, but inside it is most amazing. Inspired by Venice the apsis is decorated with the most wonderful mosaics. 

 

 

The mosaic in the absis is 12 by 17.40 meters. Its creator is Antoon Molkenboer (1872-1960). It depicts women in the traditional costume of Scheveningen, who pray and give thanks for the delivery from another epidemic, the cholera, which still made many victims even in the beginning of the 20^th century. But in the 19^th century there were two outbreaks of the epidemic throughout Europe. Scheveningen was the first place in the Netherlands to be hit by the virus. It was thought that the disease had reached the fishing village via the fishing boats which of course docked in foreign ports and harbours. The priest at that time organized extra prayer meetings displaying the sacrament, and the epidemic stopped, at least in Scheveningen. In the mosaic the women give thanks for this miraculous healing.

The church we find now was built in 1927. The parish priest who was in charge at that time, decided to commission this monumental mosaic in remembrance of the supernatural healing of the cholera. The colours of the mosaic are splendid and very vivid. It is the only impressive work of art I know of, which depicts the women of Scheveningen in their local costume. Apart of course from painters like Breitner and others of the Hague School who painted beach scenes and the local fishing population. Since my grandmothers both only wore that costume, and so many women in Scheveningen did when I grew up, I cherish this mosaic, and also admire its beauty. One tends to forget that Scheveningen used to be a village quite cut off from The Hague and separated by dunes. There was only one connecting road with toll gates. (By the way, the toll gates were moved and are now very near our Anglican church opposite the Catholic cemetery, and are purely ornamental.)

 left and right side of the mosaic

To sell the fish women, fishermen’s wives, would walk along this road to The Hague with baskets of fish. Now Scheveningen is considered just part of The Hague and the rich and well-to-do have taken over the harbours and the best apartments along the quays. The harbour is now mostly filled with expensive yachts, toys for the well-to-do. No longer does one smell the tar used for the nets and the barrels of fish, no longer are there any barrels to play on. The village of Scheveningen was always looked upon as inferior to The Hague. Amazing, for the men and women worked very hard indeed. Women were independent before the word feminist was invented. The men would be at sea for several weeks on end, and the women would take over everything at home and make their own decisions. They were tough and brave, although poor, which was not their fault. Even when I was a child, being from Scheveningen instead of The Hague was considered rather inferior.

To return to epidemics, pandemics and epidemics have always been there and will always be with us. The cause of cholera was found and clean drinking water and much better hygiene put a stop to that, at least in the western world. In third world countries it is a different story.

We will surely find a cause of and cure for or vaccine against this pandemic, but if we do not change our life style, this pandemic surely won’t be the last one. Wouldn’t it be great if after this is over artists would be commissioned to make another splendid work of art to commemorate this remarkable episode in history? But would we still dedicate it to God?

 Side chapel

Quarantine 21, Evensong, 04-23

What a wonderful thing to sing Evensong again, even without a congregation. And not with a full choir, but just with a quartet, an organist and cellist. For once the church service was not recorded separately, partly from home and partly in church, and put together, but we had a full service, with sermon and prayers. It was a bit daunting to realize that I was on my own in the anthem, as in fact we all were. On the other hand, we were all together in it. It was a real joy to do this and made for another happy day. I had not realized how much the choir and church services meant to me and what a large part of my life especially the church choir has been for the past 20 years or so, after being widowed. Living on my own, the church is where I feel happy and have friends. A surrogate family? Perhaps, but a very important one. In fact the intimacy of the service was very moving. And it is good thus to keep in contact with each other, even in this limited way. Thanks to Christina, our organist and choirmaster, who invites each of us in turn to sing a service, so that we don’t lose contact with the choir and the church.

Quarantine 20, A day with a golden lining

A day with a golden lining.

After over a month of intelligent lockdown, I have been thirsting for normal contact with people, friends, fellow human beings. Today was a good day! The weather was again beautiful, sunny with a blue sky, as blue as one can imagine. My cupboards were empty, so I needed to restock. First of all I went to the farmers’ market for fruit, vegetables, nuts, dried fruits, and cheese. Then on to the butcher’s for meat to make Boeuf Bourguignon. Beef is half price on Tuesdays, so a good opportunity to buy a larger piece of beef and make a nice stew tomorrow which I can then freeze in batches. But I could not avoid a visit to the supermarket either. I stocked up so that I had enough for at least a week. The open air market doesn’t seem threatening at all, but the supermarket does. The aisles are too narrow, and it is difficult to avoid one’s fellow shoppers.

All those things took almost all morning.

After a mug of freshly ground coffee and a sandwich I went to see friends which I hadn’t seen for two months because of the lockdown. They have a sunny garden and plenty of space to be able to sit well apart from each other. It was great at last to have a drink with somebody! I spent some time there, enjoying catching up with things. Since a nephew has bought a house just round the corner which he has completely stripped and built up again, I paid him a visit as well to see how he is getting on. It is a project which has kept him busy for 3 years now, but he hopes to move in with his family in summer. It is going to be a beautiful house! The project has taken far more time than expected, but with both he and his wife having demanding jobs and two children, plus the unexpected surprises, it has almost become his life’s work. I bet it is worth it.

Those two visits filled the afternoon completely. I came home very happy. Two visits with real people! Who could believe it after so many weeks of being deprived of “normal” contact. This was almost normal, because no kissing, no hugging, no touching, and keeping one’s distance. But it was at least a beginning. Amazing how we always take “normal” contact for granted and do not realize how wonderful that is till we are cut off from it.

Very contentedly I proceeded to prepare the lovely fresh asparagus, and even forgot to listen to the speech of our prime minister in which he announced some relaxation of the lockdown rules. No haircuts or visits to dentists yet, or other medical services. We all have to grow pigtails I am afraid. But schools will gradually open after May 11^th. All restaurants and cafes stay closed. This is a tragedy, particularly for beach restaurants which would have done a roaring business because of the fantastic weather. And they have to make their money during the short summer season. We will all have to make do for some time to come yet.

But today was a day with a golden lining!

A day as golden as these flowers which I found in a wooded area within walking distance of my house and almost part of my daily routine

Quarantine ? 19 A trip

We are not in a complete lock down, but in a so-called intelligent one. What it means is a bit vague and can be interpreted in various ways. We are supposed to stay at home. But we are also encouraged to go outside once a day, as fresh air and some walking is beneficial. Being locked up at home isn’t. We may not catch corona that way, but be prone to a scale of other complaints and ailments, one being a mental breakdown. So we can have visitors, but no more than three at a time and at a distance of 1.5 meters. In a small room this is not possible. After so many weeks of being shut in one’s own home, and still being healthy, the risk of contaminating others in a similar position is nihil. So I decided to go and see my brother in law, who celebrated his 83^rd birthday this past week. There were several reasons why I wanted to go. To begin with the second part of the 200 km drive is very pleasant and goes through interesting countryside. Another reason is that as I live alone, I was dying for some company, albeit at the prescribed distance. The advantage is that the roads are very quiet, so a long road trip isn’t half as tiring as it usually is, and gas/petrol is very cheap at the moment. Even more reason to go! On top of that the weather has been glorious, which makes for easy driving.  And my sister and brother in law live in a part of the country where the roads won’t be blocked off for tourists, as there aren’t many day trippers, except perhaps cyclists. But with a strong wind, that was less likely. I had to take some water and fruit or biscuits with me, as all restaurants and cafes are closed.

A bright sky and new leaves

On my way up North, I was struck by the sharp contours of everything, the striking colours, as if a computer programme like paint shop had given nature a make-over. The sky was very blue indeed, the type of sky I remember from childhood. Is it possible that the skies were as intensely blue when I was a child, and that it isn’t just my imagination, childhood memories made better and more idyllic? Or is it the absence of air traffic, of pollution, caused by cars as well as planes? Fact is that everything sees more intensely coloured.

Along a rather uninteresting motorway I was struck by a triangular piece of land. It was planted with poplars which showed their young bronze coloured leaves. Underneath was a bright yellow carpet of Cole seed or rape, so bright that it seemed unreal. The sun was shining through the leaves and on the yellow undergrowth. Unfortunately, there was no place to stop and take a picture, for the sight took my breath away.

This made me think of a Van Gogh painting, or the patterned fabric of a Japanese kimono

At this time of year there is cherry blossom everywhere, and in this part of the country there are also bulb fields, where originally you could only find agriculture. This is not known by tourists, so no need to block off roads.

I enjoyed my family’s company. It was nice to see them again and talk not by phone but in person. We are so lucky to have houses with gardens, as have all my siblings. Two of them even have a campervan with shower and toilet, which give them the freedom to travel a bit in our own country and go cycling in different places, even during these strange times. And we all have an income. So there is nothing to complain about and everything to be thankful for. Having a garden is bliss in the circumstances. For me the worst thing about this lock down is the absence of human contact, and not so much being restricted to my house and garden.

 Even more orange than in this picture

I had a lovely day. When I drove back the sun was very low in the sky. Driving past Oldeholtpade (amazing, those place names in Friesland) the sun was just shining behind the beautiful Stephanus church dating back from 1545, and surrounding it with a huge orange halo. Unfortunately, I noticed it too late and couldn’t turn back to take a picture. The sun was also making driving very difficult the first 45 minutes, occasionally blinding me, till it disappeared behind some farmhouse on the horizon, a big orange ball.

It was a happy day.

 I stopped on a service road to capture the last of the sun.

All the way home the sky kept an intense salmon colour against a darkening indigo blue countryside

Quarantine 18, loneliness and colour

Easter has come and gone, although Easter is always with us. This coming Sunday, Low Sunday, in fact tomorrow, we celebrate it again. But with only virtual services, and no joyful festivities, no getting together with coffee and cakes or Easter eggs, no greetings, hugging, seeing each other face to face, it seems unreal, Easter on paper. What we experience now may be what is worst for prisoners, the total lack of physical contact with another human being. It is said that the best medicine is skin to skin contact, a healing force. The absence of that, “skin hunger”, can be very detrimental. Not everybody will suffer from that during this lock down, living with a family or a partner. But people in nursing homes or other institutions like that have to go without being able to touch their nearest and dearest. It is a cruel fate to be deprived of that. And why? To protect the visitors, the other inhabitants, or that one vulnerable patient? Since most inhabitants of care homes know this is the last stage of their lives, wouldn’t they prefer to be touched by their loves ones and run the risk of an earlier death to being bereft of their loved ones and prolong their lives a bit, but without those who are dearest to them?? It is very unnatural and cruel to both old people, lonely people, the dying and their loved ones.

Easter is new life at a time when nature re-emerges from its winter sleep. There is a riot of colour, blossoming trees, glorious bulb fields, unfolding leaves, often a very bright and translucent green before they adept more modest and mature colours. Frogs noisily produce spawn, fish are seen again near the surface, seemingly enjoying the sun. Everything comes to life again.

 Although we have to keep at arm’s length distance, at least in this country we are allowed out, which is a bonus. And lucky are those who like me have a garden or back yard, however small. We can observe and enjoy the awakening of nature. Yesterday I took the car, avoiding busy times and crowded roads, to enjoy some of the beauty of the bulb fields before it is all gone. I bought 100 tulips and 50 hyacinths, the latter in an unusual soft yellow colour. The tulips and hyacinths are all sold in packets of 50, at very low prices because there are far too many due the export ban because of the virus. The tulips are given for free to nursing homes and old people’s homes, and sold along the roads, money to be put in honesty boxes, trusting customers will pay the ridiculously low price they ask for the flowers. Paying by smartphone is another possibility. I indulged in filling my house with colour and giving bunches to my sick neighbour as well. I can’t do much for her, except provide her with flowers regularly, which is easy at this time and where I live, amongst the bulb fields!

 

 

 

 

Somehow or other we have lost the rhythm of the year, the seasons coming and going and the events connected with them. Museums are closed, churches are closed, the place where we go to in times of need and sorrow, concerts and festivals are cancelled. Every new day resembles the previous one. We lose our grip on time. And we will lose ourselves if this continues much longer. We need to be touched, to know we exist in connection with other human beings.

 

 

 

My former neighbour died this week in a care home. Not of Corona, but in spite of that we I can’t go to het funeral. She was always friendly with me, and good to us when my husband was very sick and house bound. I had moved when I got married and we were no longer neighbours. But she visited us and invited me for meals when my husband passed away. I lost contact when she moved into a care home as nobody had told me. But not so long ago the contact was restored. Too late to visit her as corona regulations were already enforced, but at least I could write to her which I did. I am glad that was just in time before she passed away. But not being able to attend her funeral is sad, as it is for so many others who can’t pay their last respects to friends and family.

Quarantine 17, Good Friday

A strange Good Friday, very quiet, as if things had come to a standstill, which of course they have. Beautiful weather again, with the bonus of far less air pollution and so seemingly brighter colours than during “normal” times. For there are no planes overhead, and there is far less traffic on the adjacent motorway.

In the morning I went for a long walk in one of the estates in Wassenaar, between Leiden and The Hague, where the Royal family lived before Alexander was inaugurated as King. It is an attractive area, a mixture of woodland, long drives lined with stately beech trees, pastures and wetlands. It used to be the hunting ground of Prince Frederik (1797-1881). This park is usually very crowded with people during the weekends, and especially on sunny weekends and times like Easter and Whitsun. Expecting lots of visitors and so fearing the spread of the Corona virus, most parks and even the beaches are closed off, mainly for day trippers, as the parking lots are all closed and barred. On foot and by bike far more is possible, although we are all advised to stay at home.

 De Horsten

Walking here with hardly any others, is a form of meditation. I can give my mind a rest, or just experience the importance of this special Friday, a Friday so unlike any others. It is quiet, with some distant noise of a single train passing by, and traffic on a provincial road. Nature has woken up, birds sing their most joyous songs, geese fly gaggling overhead, there are flowers and blossoms everywhere. I am shocked when a favourite path, flanked by trees, is totally bare, the trees sawed down, some trunks still bleeding. Why? What is the reason? This path has ditches on both sides, which now look naked. It is open to the wind, with pastureland on both sides. The cows out in the fields do not seem to mind though. A bit further on, a row of old beeches have been chopped down as well. I am jarred out of my pensive mood, decide I won’t come back here this year. But one year can’t erase the damage, see new growth. It takes time for trees to grow and for woods to mature. The new trees they have planted in some places, will take more years than there are left to me. I will never see the lanes as majestic as they were, their beauty restored.

Bologna, Chiesa di Santa Maria della Vita

PIETA, terracotta, 

Niccolo da Puglia, also called Niccolo dell' Arca

Once home I go and sit in my sunny garden, and listen to one of the two recorded church services for Good Friday. First the one in which I took part and sang the hymns together with another choir member, a soprano. It doesn’t sound too “thin”, as I had feared, and in fact I find it even moving. After coffee and lunch, I listen to the second part of the service, which has a different character but is also contemplative. In a way it is easier to concentrate and listen at home than in church. There is nothing to distract me. What I feared, Good Friday without any religious celebration, a soulless affair, turns out to be very meaningful. But I do miss the fellowship.

Detail

After dinner, in the evening I try to listen to J.S Bach’s Matthew Passion. But the recording I have is not at all what I remember and had hoped for, and I am greatly disappointed. So I decide to put on a series of records – vinyl - which I still have from decades back, with the same Passion. To my amazement my record player still functions, but the sound is neither what I was looking forward to. It is metallic, seems a mono recording. Perhaps it is not the recording, but the record player and the needle which should be replaced if I can find one. In the end I turn the music off and try to find more suitable Passion Music via You Tube.

Every year I go and attend the Matthew Passion on Maundy Thursday in the Pieterskerk in Leyden, a big medieval church, sung by a well-known Bach choir and a professional orchestra. Of course, a live performance is different from a record. Perhaps I am spoilt. Hopefully next year normality will have returned and I can again enjoy the music live.

Life for me is about faith and love, for God, nature, friends and family. Only the relationship with God hasn’t changed now that we live in isolation. God has always been far off and at the same time nearby, not here in human flesh, a presence we cannot touch, which can only touch our hearts and minds. That has not changed. Today we think of God incarnate, in human form, his son. And of his death on the cross. A gruesome death. Why have people been so cruel throughout the ages? Even in the name of justice? They were cruel then and they still are. How can we do such things to other human beings?

But we know there is hope and that after Good Friday and this very empty and quiet Saturday, there is the glory of Easter Morning and the hope of resurrection.

Quarantine 16, Holy Week

Holy Week

Palm Sunday has come and gone, and we are in the middle of Holy Week. Since there are no church services, no choir practices, nothing like that, in order to experience this week, one has to make an effort. There are many churches which stream services, without a congregation, or which compose services by copying and pasting former services into a live sermon in an empty church but in front of a camera. The church in The Hague makes audio services for all the important days of Holy Week. In fact, church services with a maximum of 30 people, minister and choirmaster or organist included, with strict instructions about virus prevention measures. But most churches have decided not to take any risks and to suspend their services. In the Bible Belt, where the services continued, many people have been infected with the virus, especially amongst church goers. They all know each other well, so perhaps it was wisdom not to continue the regular services, at least not physically. On Palm Sunday I took part in a recording for the service of tomorrow, of Maundy Thursday, and the service of Good Friday. Together with a soprano from our church choir we sang 3 hymns, accompanied by the organ and also sometimes by a cello, played by the husband of our organist, a musician of the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra. Unfortunately, all orchestras have been sent home for at least two months. So Fred had time for a very valuable contribution to the musical part of the service.

Since we were there, we also read the Lamentations, the last reading on Maundy Thursday, after which the imaginary congregation leaves the church in silence.  I had not prepared myself for a reading, as we were volunteered into it since we were present anyway.

Being in the church om Palm Sunday was a very intimate experience. The sun shone through the coloured glass, the atmosphere was serene, even more so than with a full church. The hymns and the readings moved me. I was thankful and happy to do this and be there on that particular Sunday.

The readings, prayers, and the sermon are done by different people, as usual, but now at home, sometimes in church, and seamlessly collated as one complete service. On the church website is a link to the service, and also to a pdf or Word file with the complete liturgy so that people can take part at home, and even sing the hymns.

On Palm Sunday I also watched a service from Hereford Cathedral broadcast by the BBC. It was a joyful Sunday for me, mixed with melancholy feelings.

 

 

This holy week the weather has been glorious, with temperatures reaching 20-25 degrees centigrade. Nature is a miracle. Buds on the trees burst open, and young almost translucent leaves unfold tentatively. Azalea’s, camelias, bloom with bright colours, the Pieris shows its bright red new leaves, the frogs enjoy their orgy in my pond, the goldfish swim near the surface to enjoy the sun, and the heron has discovered my snack bar, the pond, feasting on juicy frog legs, very fresh indeed. 

Taking through my kitchen window: The heron taking off gracefully like a ballerina after having snacked on innocent frogs
Below, an inquisitive frog, like a woman leaning out of a window to gossip with the neighbours

It is pure happiness to have a garden, and to see this resurrection of plants, shrubs, and trees after a winter in which everything seemed dead. No corona virus can stop this process. The sky is very bright and clear, intensely blue. No pollution by planes, which usually fly in very low to Schiphol. I am right under their flight path. Now I see one or two planes a day, the first one early in the morning, and then another one perhaps in the afternoon. Everything seems more brilliant and sharper, colours brighter and more intense. No noise of planes either, which fly so low that we have to stop our conversation till they have passed over the house. But the laughter of children, playing together now that the schools are closed. One of the new neighbours bought a very big trampoline the other day, and now all the children of this short street seem to congregate in that garden and have lots of fun, jumping and shrieking with pleasure. It will make the parents happy I suppose, who have difficulty working from home and teaching their children as well.

Being single in a time of isolation is very lonely, but being stuck in an apartment with the whole family must be far more challenging. I have enough space in a big house, and best of all this garden, which may not be large, but to me is a miniature paradise. Besides, I have lived alone for a long time now, so have had lots of practice.

The "mirror lake" with Dijckenburch in the distance and a bit nearer

 

 

 A former drive to one of the houses, lined by beautiful beech trees, with no traces of leaves yet

Today I went for a walk in Landgoed Leeuwenhorst, parkland just behind the dunes, a mixture of sand walls and woods, ponds and meadows. It lies as an island amidst the bulb fields, which this part of the country is famous for, the soil being very suitable for bulbs such as narcissi, tulips, hyacinths etc. It has been a very warm day and the breeze took with it he intoxicating perfume of the hyacinths. Leeuwenhorst used to have several country houses which were residences of rich and well-known people. One mansion is still standing, and restored to its former beauty, de Heerlijckheit Dijckenburch. The whole park has been restored. Part of it is parkland, part of it is woodland which is not interfered with. Leeuwenhorst was already inhabited very early on. After Willibrord’s landing at Katwijk nearby, an abbey was founded here on a sand wall.

 

 

After my walk I took a longer detour home and went again through the area where the bulb fields are. I needed fresh tulips, for myself and a sick neighbour, so I bought the last of the daffodils, intense yellow and a perfect flower for Easter, plus lots of tulips which are now very cheap as all trade with the UK, Italy and Germany has now stopped.

This time of isolation isn’t a holiday, but the weather being so glorious, it certainly feels like one. Small compensation for all the things we must miss now, especially during Holy Week which is a painful loss.

Quarantine 15,Palm Sunday and various encounters

Years ago, I was in Jerusalem around Palm Sunday and Easter. I will never forget the atmosphere, the crowds of people following a man on a donkey, waving palm branches. The nuns, usually so demure and quiet, dancing as in trance in the procession, going up to Jerusalem. The singing and chanting, the glorious weather. The first sensation I had when we alighted from the plane in the middle of the night, a balmy night, was the intoxicating perfume of the orange blossom. It is a fragrance embedded in my memory, which I will never forget. Although also then a divided country, it vibrated with life, with enterprise. I had encounters with Jews and Arabs (they were still called that, not Israeli’s and Palestinians), enlightening ones and strange ones.

When walking alone through the Jewish quarter with its neat and well-built houses, I was invited in by an American woman. She told me that her husband was a Talmud scholar, and that she was a housewife, as it should be according to her. She was young, and wondered why I wasn’t married yet? Didn’t I have an older sister? She should have provided me with a husband, should have looked for one. Why hadn’t she? As neither she nor her husband had jobs, they were financially supported by the Jewish community which supported all Talmud students. I was surprised, as she was an American and I did not expect this attitude from her, a very conservative Jewish attitude. Not that I objected to being a housewife as a choice, but not taking a job when a husband can’t have one because he is studying seemed unusual. I was offered something to eat and drink. She said that is what was done to “strangers” in this period of the year, invite them into your home, offer them hospitality and talk to them. I felt honoured, and was glad I had left the group I travelled with. Those encounters do not happen to groups of tourists. Her conviction, hospitality and innocence were moving.

Meeting men was another matter. We stayed in a hotel run by Arabs. The owner asked me out, which I refused. Then he showed me dirty pictures which were hidden under the mirror in my room. I got rid of him, and do not know why he entered my room in the first place. I vaguely remember a broken light bulb. I was shocked, being rather innocent, and just couldn’t believe this had happened.

When I was standing watching the joyful entrance into Jerusalem by this long trail of believers, many dressed in white, I wondered how people could get into a trance, losing themselves in a communal feeling of joy, expecting that great things were about to happen. A man on a donkey, with jubilant followers. In retrospect I can imagine Women Aglow taking part in this. I still feel an outsider, can’t take part in group hysteria or excitement. For that was what it almost seemed to me, hysteria. It may be my protestant upbringing, with a sturdy Calvinist faith, two feet firmly grounded, trained not to show feelings of ecstasy or joy in public. I am not fit for the Pentecostal life. But in a way I envied their total abandon to joy, not thinking whether it and they looked ridiculous, like King David dancing before the Ark of the Covenant. And how easily ecstasy can turn into something very nasty. Cheering and then not long afterwards shouting Crucify Him. I suppose that it what I am afraid of in large groups. People lose their identity easily, become influenced by others, their mood may change from one minute to the next.

Along the line was a Jewish policeman with the most beautiful eyes, deep, dark pools, begging me to go out with him that night. He offered me half his kingdom, if I would come with him. He did not look to have any possessions whatsoever, and besides I did not fancy a walk with him on the Mount of Olives amongst the graves after dark, in spite of his pleading eyes, his smooth olive skin and his black hair. He did find out where I stayed and turned up on the hotel’s doorstep that evening, to the utmost enmity of the Arab hotel owner, fighting over a bone which neither could have.

Yes, there were soldiers everywhere, there were tensions between Arabs and Jews. There were Christian organisations trying to reconcile Jews and Arabs – they weren’t called Palestinians and Israelis yet – and in spite of that Jerusalem was a magic place. Not just because of Golgotha, not just because of the holy churches, not just because all the Biblical references and places, the Easter services in churches and in the garden of Gethsemane, but because it is an amalgam of religious beliefs, a melting pot of cultures, race and ways of life. Many people claim Jerusalem for themselves, but it is there for all of us.

On Palm Sunday we think of this entrance into Jerusalem and the people who expected to be rescued from Roman suppression by this modest man riding a donkey. They did not know yet the bitterness, fury and disappointment many would feel that same week. The betrayal and the death of their supposed saviour, who exactly by his death did become our Saviour. A humble man, consorting with former fishermen and simple people, not a hero high on a horse, with plumes and feathers like the Romans. The groups shouted, condemned and cursed Him.

Perhaps, being in forced isolation for some time, may be helpful to discover what each one of us personally believes and hopes for, independent of the majority. A church can only be healthy if each individual member is filled by grace with a living faith, and compassion for the other members. Like in a real family, that constitutes a church family.

So, we rejoice on Palm Sunday remembering Jesus’s entrance into Jerusalem, full of hope. Of course we know that the most joyful day will be Easter. But that is yet to come. First, we will experience sorrow, grief and darkness. But hope remains.

Quarantine 15, Of Frogs and Mice

The most exciting thing today was observing the brown frogs in my pond. One moment there were no frogs, not even a single one, and the next day they were splashing around, absolutely not convinced of the necessity of social distancing! On the contrary, there were couples as well as threesomes, the males chasing the females and holding on tightly once their hunt was successful.  

 

I checked tonight, and the first spawn was already floating in my pond. I wonder how much it will be this year. After their business is done, the frogs disappear again and they don’t come back till next year. It is a miracle that they always go back to the water in which they themselves started their lives as tiny tadpoles, with hundreds of others. Fortunately, just a few survive and change from tadpole into frog. Perhaps one of the plagues of Egypt was the result of all the frogspawn maturing into full blown frogs. There must have been thousands of them!

 

 

It is still cold, and the water must be freezing. But that does not seem to bother them. I wonder what makes them move: is it the lengthening of the days, more hours of daylight? It can’t be the temperature this year as it has been colder than during our winter.

 

After a walk through the lovely winding streets of my hometown, festively lined with blossoming trees, I came home to find more “wild life”. A mouse, apparently woken from its long hibernation, has discovered my bird feeders. Although the feeders are hanging from my pergola on long chains, that seems to be no impediment for this tiny, cheeky mouse. Perhaps it is time to take the feeders down. There are enough insects now, and I noticed the birds don’t come to feed as often as they used to. Instead they seem to forage among the shrubs, taking tiny insects from among the tender and sprouting leaves. I hope this mouse will stay outside, and I will certainly see to that and take precautions.

 

Quarantine 14, Happiness

A happy day! Nature looks more lovely each consecutive day. My camelia is in bloom. It is a late variety, one I planted after several ones with bright red flowers and blossoming earlier, failed to thrive in my soil. This one has flowers which look like tight small rolls of tissue paper. They never open to show their hearts. The first few years the shrub produced no flowers, just buds, which fell off without opening at all. At last the plant produced flowers, but they quickly fell off as well. Now the camelia seems to have reconciled itself with its existence in my garden and has made up its mind to shows its best side. It is now covered in delicate flowers, and I am happy! 

Happiness was also a small tour through the bulb fields. The fields are mostly bright yellow, white, blue, deep purple and lilac coloured, daffodils and hyacinths being the first bulbs to flower. But some tulips are appearing as well, and one or two fields are now bright red.

 dare to be different

 

 

 

 

Everywhere along the roads the growers are selling tulips and daffodils, fat packets of them. I bought 50 tulips for € 5! Very cheap indeed, apparently because of the locked borders in many countries, our export has come to a halt. We export a lot of flowers to Italy and the UK, but Corona has stopped all that. Once home I filled three vases with them, which brightens up my room and my mood considerably. 

5 potted-up hyacinths in a nice container cost only € 3! I could not believe it. And thanks to technology, there were laminated sheets of paper with QR codes for the different flowers, which I could scan with the QR scanner of my bank app on my smartphone, so that I could pay without having to handle money. All to limit the danger of being infected by this nasty virus. There is some virtue in new technology. 

This morning I noticed the first brown frogs had returned to in my garden pond, another sure sign of Spring. They do not make so much noise as the green ones do, fortunately. Otherwise my neighbours might be very unhappy.

It is still cold, but when the sun is out and one is out of the wind, it is lovely and warm. The rest of my azaleas are now trying to blossom as well. 

 Yesterday I had a baking and cooking spree, which also made me happy. One of the things I tried was a pecan- maple syrup tart or flan. I did not have pecans, but I did have a large glass jar full of walnuts, so I decided to use those nuts instead. After all, nuts are nuts (I am referring to food, not to human beings). It was a lot of work, making the dough, first blind baking the case, and later mixing the crushed walnuts, the syrup and honey and the beaten eggs. The kitchen looked a bit like a battlefield, but the smell of the finished product was delicious, although it is not a nice looking one. Because of the syrup, it is a dark and sombre tart. However, the proof is in the eating, and the taste was yummy, although a bit sweet, but that was largely neutralised by dollops of unsweetened double cream. Nevertheless, I realized it would take me a long time to eat it all, especially as nuts are filling. So instead of freezing it in portions, I offered it to a neighbouring family with three hungry kids who will have no problem finishing it in no time, like locusts.

 

Looking somewhat strange and messy: very dark, and the pastry isn't neatly draped in the tin. The trouble was I didn't have the correct loose based fluted flan tin, and used this instead. It was too big and I couldnt cut off the pastry neatly. However, all those things did not affect the taste! 

Collecting a leg of lamb the butcher had prepared for me also made me happy. I know it is Lent and frugality and sobriety would be appropriate during his period. Lamb is eaten at Easter. Normally we practice some form of fasting during Lent, while going on living our comfortable, normal lives. But since this Lent we seem to be living in the desert, without any social contacts, I decided I needed to be kind to myself in order to survive these months of loneliness. So tomorrow the kitchen will be filled with the aromatic smells of roasted lamb. I wish I could share that meal with somebody, or clone myself into two persons, even if we have to be 1,5 meters apart. Just to enjoy that meal together.

Iris reticulata