Archive for December 11, 2011

A wave called love

Without the words to tell me my condition
I knew that I was lost. The ship was sunk.
Like sailors, drunk, I simply went in deeper waters.
There was no reason to be
anymore. There was no shore, no ground to land my feet.

I just let go, the stream no longer enemy but friend
and colours, never seen before, were mine.
This peace would never end, as I had found it
in myself.

Then the tide changed and a wave called love washed me ashore.
My life was not the same, the way it was before.

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Needed

Saturday afternoon, a minute to five,
the seafaring son called to mention
that he was on his way to the ferry,
as he would be home for a while.

Through the storm and hail
his father and I hurried
to the store for food and such,
and although complaining,
we couldn’t hide a smile.

We are mum and dad once more.
We will feed the son, we’ll listen
to his stories (without grasping much)
and though we know it will be just for now
it feels good to be, a little, needed.

The Christmas Card (true story)

Last Christmas would be the first without my mother.  We did the tree, the candles, and I bought some Christmas cards at the local photographers shop, with pictures of the island in snow. I got four of each, a total of about twenty-four I think, or twenty-eight. I was not very inspired this year,  and hardly looked at the pictures of the lighthouse, the panoramic view from the dunes, and a scene in the street with the lighthouse in the background.  All in snow. Somehow the spirit was not really there.

Things got worse when one aunt got a stroke just before Christmas day, aunt Esther broke her wrist and one son never made it home for Christmas because of weather conditions. (He is here now though. )

Christmas day my husband, me and the youngest son went to my eldest  son, who lives 6 km away, and whom I had sent a card as well.

“When did you make that picture?” he asked while we were enjoying a drink.

“I didn’t.  The photographer did. I bought the cards from him.”

I had sent him one of the street view, like my cousin in Belgium.  She had asked about a house in the picture.  Something had been altered and she noticed.  I realized the pic must have been more than twenty years old.

My son  then wanted to know:  “How come I never saw this picture of my grandmother before?”

“What?”  I took a good look at the card. There were only two people on the pic.

“The woman with the sledge!”  he said. “It is Oma!”

I watched.  The woman was seen on the back.  But I knew the sledge,  a typical Terschellinger design.  As this sledge was very small, the handle had been made higher.  I remember my father doing that. He never bothered to paint it green like the rest of the sledge.

“There is only one sledge like that and I have it here.  And besides,  I know that coat,” my son said.  “It is grandmother alright, going to do her shopping!”

I recognized the yellow boots. The trousers she hated to wear, but that particular year it was so cold…

“O my god! It really is her!“ I exclaimed. We were astonished.  There she was,  three months exactly after her burial,  on this Christmas card I had sent to some people who had  loved her.  This way she was with us after all…
Of course it was a big coincidence I picked this card this Christmas. But a very nice one!

This was the first posting on Inaweblogisback, I wrote this Jan. 1 2010 https://inaweblogisback.wordpress.com/2010/01/01/the-christmas-card-true-story/ The cards are still for sale! 🙂

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