Lockdown day 100. Tuesday, Another sunset

Lockdown day 100. Another sunset

Perhaps we can’t travel and enjoy new experiences and adventures. But although the sun rises and sets every day, every sunset is different. I am lucky to live near the sea. So, on day 100 of our lock-down I went for a walk on the beach and another sunset. Typical of this period are the cruise ships parked on the horizon, and other ships, waiting for better times, docking in a big port being too expensive.

It is really summer, and the water is clear and very pleasant, even warm for this part of the North Sea. Less pleasant are the jellyfish, very fascinating creatures to look at when washed ashore, but meeting them and their stinging tentacles while swimming is a less pleasant experience. The sea is theirs.

Lockdown day 99. A visit to the solicitor

A visit to the solicitor

One thing was at least positive, it wasn’t a Zoom or Skype Business meeting, but a meeting in person. As for virtual meetings, people working from home tend to have their office in the most unlikely places, and so offer you an unintentional peephole into their private lives, which seems to take away their authority. Especially the bank employee who showed me his Ikea wardrobe devalued his expertise. But today no handshake, no coffee or tea, but neither a corona questionnaire to fill out, no temperature check and the use of handgel was not compulsory. So far so good, and almost normal. Except for the elevator, which was spacious but only two people at the time were allowed to use it. The two sets of feet, or rather the soles of a pair of shoes in the two utmost corners, fascinated me. It struck me that they were not facing the wall, but in fact each other. How risky in these troubled times! And was that really 1,5 meters, diagonally? Standing there alone, I wondered if I still had to stand on one of those pairs of shoes, or if it was fine to stand in the middle and ignore the stickers.

I was shown into the office and told to sit on the far side of a big, round conference table. My solicitor sat down opposite me, with a Perspex screen between us across the diameter of the table. It looked as if we were going to play a game of table tennis, the only difference being that the net now was a screen.  Well, we talked about the usual things solicitors and their clients talk about, which almost always ends with the signing of important looking documents, full of jargon which only lawyers can interpret. But if I did not understand each and every word or phrase, I know what it all meant and implied. The signing was the interesting part. Instead of handing me the papers, a game of shuffleboard began. The solicitor would slide his papers to me through the gap beneath the screen, with a nice swing of his arm, trying to give it exactly the correct amount of speed to land in front of me. After signing I swung it back. My swing was far better and the documents really gathered speed. In a flash I was back on the bank of a lake in the Rockies, throwing pebbles across the surface of the water. Always fun, although I must admit I am not really good at it. I could not suppress a smile. This process with the documents was repeated a few times, and it was fun. Fun which one usually doesn’t associate with a solicitor’s office. I wondered if I should pocket the pen used to sign he documents. There was a mug full of pens and mine might be contaminated. In the end, I decided against it.

I came out a very happy person. The sun was shining, the air cool and very pleasant, and the world was a good place.

On my way back home I had to get some cash – cash is a rare thing nowadays as we have to pay electronically almost everywhere for fear of passing on the virus via our money -, and buy some bread for lunch. On an impulse I bought a delicious small cake as well, with mousse, and fruit, and a yoghurt cream. After all, what else can one celebrate during this long and endless lock down but a game of shuffleboard?

Sunday June 21, The longest day

I wrote my last post some three weeks ago. In the meantime, several things have changed, but some haven’t and are still very hard to live with. At least, for singles in particular. I have been to the hairdresser’s, seen my GP, seen a specialist in a hospital, been to a museum, used public transport with a face mask, went to the dentist and on a second occasion to the dental hygienist. I even had a meal in a museum cafe. So far, so good. But there is still the 1,5-meter distance rule, it is still not allowed to travel with more than two people in a car, unless belonging to the same household, and then even 3 people are allowed. But for me, being single, not much is allowed in terms of company, social contact, travelling together or even renting a holiday cottage together. The whole idea that any physical human contact might be harmful and is therefore forbidden, scares me. Where is my freedom as an individual? Why can I not travel to see dear friends?  Isn’t loneliness far more harmful than physical contact? And isn’t it true that babies who lack physical contact, are scarred for life?  And is it constitutional, lawful? I object to any law they want to make regarding the “new normal”. The new normal is abnormal, is detrimental to our lives and health. And then all the joys in life, the things which give life meaning and keep us going? What about the arts, music, museums, concerts, the theatre? After my husband died music kept me going, helped me to enjoy life again. Especially church music, the fellowship with other choristers, our festivals and singing weeks in British cathedrals. Singing is no longer allowed, not even congregational singing in church services, which in any case are limited to a small number of parishioners. Isn’t faith, the community one finds in church, the church family, the one thing which is really important in times like these? As well as singing together?

After three months of abstinence we have started our choir practices again. Not in a normal way. There is no such thing as socializing, no coffee or tea break. We can’t practice in our choir pews, standing together, but are spread out all over nave of the church, far apart. But it is a beginning. Although in the church services which have started, only two choristers are allowed to sing, and those two far apart. But we decided to go for it, study beautiful music for evensongs, record them and put them online. It keeps us going as a choir, it helps people to enjoy services they used to come to, and so we are all better off.

Today it was my turn, together with a fellow chorister, a soprano with a very good voice and a professional singer, to sing in the second service we have had so far. We were helped out by the organ, a cello and two violas, which was great! All of them professionals. It is odd to sing hymns without the congregation joining in, but still an absolute joy to be able to sing in a service again, albeit as almost a soloist. I could not have dreamt of that as a child! We sang a moving anthem, the bass and tenor parts being filled in by the strings, us two women singing the soprano and alto part.  Such a joy, such a comfort, far more than mere words.

Of course this time also brings new opportunities: to declutter one’s house, to change things one always wanted to do and never came round to doing, to go for walks, enjoy the garden – after working in it! In that respect I am so fortunate having a garden and a spacious house, as well as living near the sea which is another bonus.  

The sea is different every time I go. It may be smooth, reflecting the sky and the setting sun, painting the water in shades of orange, salmon and purple. It can be wild when there is wind, with foam crested waves, angrily breaking on the shore, and rippled puddles. Gulls may be noisy and fly about along the flood line, waiting for food cast ashore by the waves. Or they may sit quietly in a group, making ready for the night, all heads ducked into their feathers facing the same direction. The wind and the waves will cleanse our heads and thoughts whatever the weather. We seem tiny compared to the forces of nature, the water we can’t restrain, the wind we can’t keep in control either.

That applies to a garden as well. It changes every day. Flowers bloom, wilt and die, new flowers and plants burst into bloom, an ever-repeating joy. Whatever we do, plants may seed itself in unexpected places where we did not intend them to be. Others may be a joy one year and just disappear without a trace the next. Whatever we do, nature goes its own mysterious way.

And now summer has arrived, and all our holiday plans have gone with the wind. But there is always the sea, intriguing, sometimes calm and peaceful, sometimes lethal anda threatening. Love and hate, or rather fear, go hand in hand. Sailors drown, so do swimmers and able-bodied surfboarders, lured into dangerous situations and places. The sea is a force we can’t tame nor contain, although we try. It makes us aware of our helplessness and insignificance in the whole scheme of nature, it widens our perspective.

As a contrast there is the garden, a place of retreat, a bower, shielding us from the outside world. In summer a riot of colour and fragrances, a place of shade and sunshine, a mini world with the lily pond and the brightly coloured fish, the bird bath, the pecking order amongst the various birds, a world of predators as well. But for me a place of safety and contentment.

Lock-down 30, Whit Monday, June 1st

Whit Monday 2020, June 1st

This is a strange year and the first time in my life I have been alone during Whit Monday. On Sunday at least I was invited to sing some hymns for our last pre-recorded church service. So I met a few fellow singers life, and not via Zoom! 

Monday was very unusual. I tried to remember if I had ever been alone on Whit Monday, and do not think I ever have. As a child it was a day for a family outing, and we would do something special. It often was a glorious day, late spring or early summer. I remember once that we rented a rowing boat and my father took some of us rowing on the river Vliet, near Leiden. In the picture I have I look very formally dressed. But I think in the morning we first attended a special church service. Not a formal one with a sermon, but a kind of Songs of Praise, with lots of music. I loved that. Something similar would be the case for Boxing day and Easter Monday. But Whitsun seemed lighter and sunnier, which perhaps it was. It is the closure of the church calendar, and the beginning of summer, a season of light. I remember my mother bringing some food with her in the boat. Not a copious picnic, but some nice treats.

Or we might go to the Zoo in Wassenaar, taking the train which then still ran from Scheveningen to I think Leidschendam, or even Rotterdam, and stopping on a viaduct near the Zoo in Wassenaar. We would walk the rest of the way, which wasn’t far. On the way back we walked the whole way. Or perhaps it was the other way round and we took the train when we were tired after our time in the Zoo, and walk to the Zoo when we were still fresh in the morning. The Zoo has disappeared, and so has the train, which they thoroughly regretted decades later. Part of the train track is nor a road. 

When I was still living at home as a child and a teenager, I often took part in organized day hikes or walks on Whit Monday, which has always been a public holiday here. There were various distances to choose from. The walks went through the dunes, and estates in Wassenaar which were normally not open to the public. I loved that, and collected the medals, which are still lurking somewhere in a dark corner. We would have a logbook in which besides the date, the length of the walk and other relevant information, we wrote about things which happened or things which we noticed during those walks. I still have one of those logbooks. When I browsed through it, it struck me that the dunes had a far more varied and richer fauna than nowadays. On one walk I saw a lot of pheasants and partridges, as well as rabbits which were then very common. They were decimated and almost totally wiped out by an disease, and never have come back full force. The pheasants have mysteriously vanished as well.

There was the last year of secondary school, when I stayed at home and did not join the walks, studying for my finals, hearing the music of some bands in the distance and seeing people walking through a nearby street. I sat in my parents’ bedroom, with the French doors of their balcony open, basking in the warm sun. If I lived in that house now, I would make it my study and sewing room. It was light with bay windows at the front and the balcony on one side.

As a student we might stay for free with a few friends in a cottage owned by an uncle or father of one of them, in a nice part of the country.  It was fun. They were usually simple cottages and we spent most of our time walking to the nearest village or town for food, preparing it, heating water to wash the dishes, and talking about life in general. If we had bikes, we would ride them.

When I was working and still single, I might go to see friends in England or elsewhere, as the period of Ascension Day to Whitsun was long enough to go away. Or stay with a married brother or sister.

Once married, we might rent a self-catering cottage in Holland and cycle in a nice part of the country. Later we would go to Italy, driving down at leisure and renting an apartment somewhere rural within easy reach of a railway station so that we could spend a day in either Rome or Florence. The trains were cheap as they were subsidized, and very modern in comparison to our own trains. We saw a lot of Italy. Once we rented a house on the peninsula at the end of the Laguna of Venice, Punta Sabbioni. We could walk to the ferry in 10 minutes and so go to Venice quickly, seeing the San Marco for the first time from the Laguna. It was magic. In the afternoons, after a nice al fresco meal, my husband would go back to the house to read in the garden and I would wander around the less trodden quarters of Venice, taking pictures and drinking in the atmosphere. My love of the Italian language and way of life began there, or was fuelled there.

Or we toured through England, Scotland and Ireland, seeing friends, staying in B&B’s, crossing to Ireland to rent a cottage and invite Irish fiends to share it with us. A landbridge ticket made it possible to cross from Holland to England and on to Ireland and back via various routes and ferries.

Another attraction was Germany, the Eiffel in particular. It isn’t all that far away, and we would go for long walks, of which there is an excellently signposted network.

Or we might be on a long and exciting trip through the USA.

Later, single again, I would visit friends, meet American friends who were touring Europe in Prague, go to Bologna or Paris for a long weekend or midweek. Follow a course in Puglia about architecture, all in Italian. Or have a singing weekend somewhere, either abroad (Florence, Coventry, Dublin)) or in our own country. I would spend time in the second home of a niece in Germany. Or I would go and see friends in England. I also took my father to England after my mother passed away, and we rented cottages in Cornwall and Yorkshire, meeting friends on the way, or staying in B&B’s. Spring is the perfect time for holidays. Everything is fresh and lush, and tourists haven’t swamped the tourist spots yet. Besides, renting a house is a lot cheaper. Or we both stayed in the house of my niece and her husband in the Hunsrück, Germany.

Friends from Canada or the USA might come and we would explore together, driving into Belgium and France, discovering quaint towns and castles, churches and cathedrals. Or just cycle in Holland. 

 Cows and sheep

 A heron

So, a lonely Whit Monday was a first. Although the lock-down is slightly less strict, possibilities are still limited. But I did go for a two hour walk through the many small parks surrounding my home. And it is amazing what one can see in a series of small suburban parks in a built-up part of this country. The pictures are testimony of that.

 A stork foraging and later on the nearby nest

 

 A young family of swans