nga

people STARE so, she whispers.
i look around the platform. she is right.
but the rest of the world doesn't know, as i do, that time has merely sighed since the night that a careless driver sent her, and her bicycle, flying through the air to a future unimaginable.
it doesn't matter, she consoles.
she has come to understand that it happened for a reason. she has found solace in religion, and resignation. god has plans, and she is an intrinsic part of them. her heart has been opened.
that is her truth.
she plucks at her sleeve, smiling a smile so radiant it hurts. she quotes romans chapter 14, and reassures me that she has forgiven all neglect.
she asks, for the third time, where i work these days.
i'm not beautiful anymore, she murmurs.
oh, i say, but you ARE.
and that is my truth.

fact or fiction?

corner prinsengracht/leidsestraat: an upward glance, and a double-take.
elegant, well-dressed.
expensive haircut, excellent deportment, flair for drama...
was this gentleman REAL?
he wasn't.
duh.

and...
lalaland: play it safe, please!

up up and away

the old has not been forgotten: it is merely in serious need of repair.
that which is planned will, hopefully, live up to the memories of that which was. but in the meantime, the blank slate of development limbo is scrawled with the creative - and commercial - fantasies of a careless, but (thankfully) colourful nature.

come tomorrow

when this tiny creature*, immobile on the morning platform, allowed me to softly approach, i was honoured...and gratified. but then i saw the helpless look in her eye, and her shivering feathers, and my delight turned to dismay.i sought the telephone number of the animal-ambulance; before i could write it down, she hopped lamely into the neverending shrubbery.
and then my train arrived.
and life went on.
*photo friday

waiting out the downpour

it's raining again. it's cold. poor wee grapes, so neglected by warmth and light: they may never meet their lush destiny.

shaken, not stirred

in the shadow of the westerkerk: not only the statue of anne frank, and the homo-monument, but also the rickety ruins of what used to be a well-known caribbean restaurant. cockatoos used to crow here, and colourful cocktails used to be shaken, but there is nothing exotic about it now. it has been let go*, and it was a quick and easy undoing; unlike the soaring tower of the church, which was built to last centuries, this precarious structure flourished no longer than its popularity and its positive reviews.
*theme thursday

feathered friends

rubber ducks are not a unique weakness. i've capitulated twice, but christine and jeanine share the same frivolous inclination.
and these particular water-fowl are definite kindred spirits: they have a LITERARY bent.

life in the slow lane

and these are the things that made ME smile this weekend*:
(click to enlarge!)








a complimentary breakfast (my work, don't you know..) at one of the most beautiful hotels in amsterdam, even if it did mean a 4:30 a.m. wake-up-call
&
the always-inspiring combination of the old and the experienced- and the settled and the brash
&
suddenly, an unexpected glance upwards, an emily dickinson poem unfolding above the busy marnixstraat
&
around the corner: happy cobblestones! everyone can use a bit of positivity in their life
&
a lovely bouquet. it was our anniversary: many many MANY years
&
a rubber ducky, unforeseen . i have, and always HAVE had, a weakness for rubber duckies...a perfect end to a perfect weekend..

*i work most REAL weekends; this week i had thursday and friday off, so i rearranged a bit...

of tender years

she hoists the tiny bundle high onto her hip.
angling her body carefully to protect him from the scratching wind, she gently introduces him to the seashore.
"there!" her voice is soft. "can you see that sailboat, way in the distance, bucking the waves?"
"and look!" she continues, gesturing, "how the seagulls soar and dive.."
he listens intently. his infant head swivels briefly from the house on the dunes toward the endless dancing foam, but his eyes focus only on her, her already-familiar face: she is the centre of his universe, and the source of an unconditional love and understanding that he may never know again.

reds and whites and blues

the leidseplein always bustles. trams screech, waiters balance, bicycles whirl, street-performers dance and juggle and mimic. and in the last week, a new flurry of colour and movement has appeared above the square: dozens of flags flutter over the facade of the city playhouse in honour of the holland festival.
photo friday: multiple