Chronicles Continued

Saw this Stateside

My house owner planted a huge grass plant in a too small place. The house owner of the door on the right is not pleased with the sharp fronds of this plant crossing his threshold and blocking his entrance. Enter renter with shears. I have seen passersby with camera taking a picture. With a bit more trimming, it could resemble a pot with flowers.

This was the wood pattern on the back of the door in an Airbnb where I stayed. What I saw? What do you see?

Saw this on the side of a Wrangler. Loved it!

This summer, while on the East Coast, I had occasion to travel to the Mid West by air. Part of that story is, though booked on one air carrier, there was such chaos and cancellations, within 42 hours I went, stayed, and came back on three different airlines. But I digress. This story took place on the way out: the flight was the first of my non-scheduled. I was already 6 hours later than planned and my phone was dying. It needed to operate upon landing. Once we had reached cruising altitude , I asked a cabin crew person-not sure what to call them these days- if there was a place to plug in and charge my phone. My seat had no such plug. She said all the plugs were in the front of the plane, which was a semi-first class section. She suggested I ask the help of one of the persons seated there. With phone and plug in hand, waltzed to the front of the plane and started back down the aisle. Clearly I ain’t a damsel anymore, distress or otherwise. Though nicely dressed, decent hair, pleasant voice, not one of those paying twice what I was, and half my age, offered to charge my phone. As I progressed on this short stint, not a knight among them, or knightess might I add. My savior came in Economy Comfort. A male passenger closer to my age than he might have liked to admit, offered to plug it in, and land my phone in his seat pocket. it was up to me to remember it was there. This episode briefly provided lively conversation for those seated around me.

This row of trophies covers a complete shelf space in the second hand store. Why are they discarded? Did someone die? Did a parent clean house? Did someone quit? Try as I might, could not come up with a satisfactory story that wasn’t a melancholy tale.

Sometimes if it rains a lot in Holland, things wash away. That is what happened to the accompanying photo to the post yesterday. Gone from the post.

This majestic house was built by a founder of the VOC [the famous Dutch trading association] in the 1740’s, in style of French architecture. For 100 years it was the family home. When there were no more heirs [6 daughters had no children] in the late 1800’s it was turned into a residence for well-to-do-widows. It was closed in 1999 because it could not be brought up to current standards for housing the elderly without destroying much of the architecture. Presently it is open TWO days a year when one may tour. It is bank-rolled by a very large fund established by the family. If you have watched Downtown Abbey the interior is that, especially the basement kitchen area.

There is a short list of behaviors I find difficult with which to deal. Sometimes the behavior comes unexpectedly to the fore and I am unprepared. Such was yesterday. In July, signed up for a work-shop on language, in Amsterdam. There was unusually little information about this event but it was clear to be a sales session. Three hours long. With this in mind my plan was to commit to half of the session. Upon arrival, and before taking my seat in a cramped over-filled room, informed the leader of the session that I must leave after 90 minutes. An ill-advised move, I later discovered. 75 minutes into a poor-choice-of words- all talk-demonstration, in a too warm, crowded small space with participants nodding off, the leader said we’ll have a break in a few minutes. He looked squarely at me. I figured great, he was letting me know. Every five minutes there after, he would look at his watch and then look at me. 90 minutes came and went. Just one more tidbit, one more example. Finally at 105 minutes, when everyone was fidgeting, he called for a break. Five of us made a bee-line down the long hall [haul] for the front door, He apparently was insulted by my not committing to the entire three hours. I wonder how many stayed and how many signed on at the end. The other dumb thing: I had gotten myself wedged into a side-space from which I could not exit without a disruption to the ‘talk’. It would have been rude if I had tried. Luckily for me, I as is my want, I had built in extra time and so I arrived at my next appointment quite nicely on time. Nice try mr jerk.

When I think of Harlem in New York, the pictures of neighbors sitting on their stoops is what comes to mind. This happens in my neighborhood. Because the houses are on a small brick road that abuts the water of a small harbor, every house has chairs or benches in front. [you might remember last year someone lifted my chair] and so it was Sunday, four sets of neighbors shared a glass on the stoop. As cars went by, those that knew the neighbors, stopped, rolled down their windows to say hello. Those that didn’t tried to zoom by which was accompanied by much comment. The passing dog walkers smiled, the tourists looked shyly and the gathering finally broke up when the evening sun set and the air turned cold.