This belief of mine, that the Dutch are enamored with dairy in a way that foreigners can never fully grasp, was even more ingrained a few days ago. As it was one of the days that my daughter was at the creche, I was busy at
Thursday, July 12, 2012
A Dutch dairy carnival
Being an ex-pat in the Netherlands, I've heard a lot of stereotypes about the Dutch. Like all stereotypes, some are completely baseless and others, at least in my experience, are not. Take dairy. The Dutch like their dairy more than most. It may be that not every Dutchman or woman is crazy for the stuff, but it certainly seems more prevalent than I remember it being in China or in Canada. Conference breaks see glasses laid out with your standard juices, alcohol and buttermilk. Before my husband was diagnosed as a celiac, clearly wasting away, fragile and in chronic pain, one memorable visit to the doctor had her suggesting that the solution might simply be that he wasn't eating enough dairy. "Go home and make sure that you drink lots of buttermilk and eat more yogurt." was her advice.
This belief of mine, that the Dutch are enamored with dairy in a way that foreigners can never fully grasp, was even more ingrained a few days ago. As it was one of the days that my daughter was at the creche, I was busy atthe kitchen table my desk, working. The day was lovely and I had the kitchen door open, the afternoon air was still and heavy - the perfect conditions for being totally immersed in my thoughts. Slowly, though, music started to penetrate my thoughts. At first quite quiet, I heard ragtime music, coming from the neighbour. I found it strange, as our neighbours tend to be strictly top 40, but still, it was pleasant. Then, the music grew louder and the acoustics shifted. I realized that it wasn't coming from next door at all. It was coming from the front of the house. As it's not unusual for marching bands to go by occasionally for reasons completely unknown to me, I rushed to the front, hoping to watch. The ringing of the doorbell beat me to it. Opening the door, I found myself facing a robust and exuberant woman in a large florescent green hat. She handed me a carton of milk, cheerfully explained that it was in support of local dairy farmers and then she was off. Across and down the street were several other similarly dressed people, all ringing doorbells. Once the surprise wore off, I found that I couldn't stop laughing, and I was in a great mood for the rest of the day. I truly believe that this is one experience that could only happen in the Netherlands.
This belief of mine, that the Dutch are enamored with dairy in a way that foreigners can never fully grasp, was even more ingrained a few days ago. As it was one of the days that my daughter was at the creche, I was busy at
Saturday, July 7, 2012
Gluten free quiche
Don't you love when taking what seems to be the harder road turns out to be easier and better than the tried and true, easier, one?
When I first started experimenting with gluten free baking (and cooking) it certainly wasn't a choice. It's just slightly harder than regular baking and somehow those one or two extra steps seem to make a huge mental difference. Also, balancing the proportions is more difficult and the result is slightly less regular. I like to bake, though, and I like a challenge, so I've persevered.
I also like quiche. A lot. Now, pie crust can be a bit tricky, but mostly my reservations have always revolved around the keep-it-in-the-fridge waiting period. When I want my crust, I want it now! And this was even before the gluten-free days. Needless to say, quiche hasn't ever been part of my repertoire. Rather, it's been something that I save for special occasions. I'll break it out for a Boxing Day lunch, or a girls day out brunch.
But then, oooh, but then.... Buried deep into a message board discussing easy gluten free lunches, was a recipe. An easy recipe. A fast recipe. Dare I say it? It's even a healthy recipe.
The crust is made from chickpea flour and olive oil. The recipe suggests blending it in a blender, but that's too much mess for me so I simply use my pastry cutter and it works just great. An even easier alternative, if you don't have a pastry cutter, would be just using a couple of knives to cut it. Then, you press it into the pan, bake it up for a few minutes and presto! You've got pie crust. While I don't think that this would work for sweeter fare, here the savory flavour meshes perfectly with whatever herbs I happen to toss into the filling.
Throw in the fact that, in addition to being delicious for supper, it's filling enough that there's always leftovers for lunch the next day. It's become one of my favorite go-to quick meals.
When I first started experimenting with gluten free baking (and cooking) it certainly wasn't a choice. It's just slightly harder than regular baking and somehow those one or two extra steps seem to make a huge mental difference. Also, balancing the proportions is more difficult and the result is slightly less regular. I like to bake, though, and I like a challenge, so I've persevered.
I also like quiche. A lot. Now, pie crust can be a bit tricky, but mostly my reservations have always revolved around the keep-it-in-the-fridge waiting period. When I want my crust, I want it now! And this was even before the gluten-free days. Needless to say, quiche hasn't ever been part of my repertoire. Rather, it's been something that I save for special occasions. I'll break it out for a Boxing Day lunch, or a girls day out brunch.
But then, oooh, but then.... Buried deep into a message board discussing easy gluten free lunches, was a recipe. An easy recipe. A fast recipe. Dare I say it? It's even a healthy recipe.
The crust is made from chickpea flour and olive oil. The recipe suggests blending it in a blender, but that's too much mess for me so I simply use my pastry cutter and it works just great. An even easier alternative, if you don't have a pastry cutter, would be just using a couple of knives to cut it. Then, you press it into the pan, bake it up for a few minutes and presto! You've got pie crust. While I don't think that this would work for sweeter fare, here the savory flavour meshes perfectly with whatever herbs I happen to toss into the filling.
Throw in the fact that, in addition to being delicious for supper, it's filling enough that there's always leftovers for lunch the next day. It's become one of my favorite go-to quick meals.
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Home but not home
They don't grow wild in the cold, dry landscape of Northern Alberta, where I'm from, so I associated poppies with November. From a very early age, all school children learn "In Flanders Fields". We repeat it, in chorus, while watching slideshows of the horrors of war; we study it in conjunction with the history of our nation at war. Those of us of a certain age associated it strongly with the terrible things that our beloved grandparents suffered through. And in turn, we associate these things with the small plastic red poppy that we wear on our breast in remembrance. I'm not sure, growing up, if it every occurred to me that poppies are a real flower, and if it did occur to me, it was certainly a fleeting thought.
On moving to the Netherlands, I was surprised to find that they grow wild, like a weed. Orange poppies push their way up through the cracks in the sidewalks and along side houses. I find them beautiful and they bring me a sense of peace each time I see one, but it is the red ones that grow wild alongside the train tracks that I can't stop looking at. Each train ride, at the right time of year, finds me staring out into the wild grasses spattered with bright spots of brilliant red, feeling nostalgic for home and proud of my heritage.
On moving to the Netherlands, I was surprised to find that they grow wild, like a weed. Orange poppies push their way up through the cracks in the sidewalks and along side houses. I find them beautiful and they bring me a sense of peace each time I see one, but it is the red ones that grow wild alongside the train tracks that I can't stop looking at. Each train ride, at the right time of year, finds me staring out into the wild grasses spattered with bright spots of brilliant red, feeling nostalgic for home and proud of my heritage.
Friday, June 8, 2012
Dutch composting
Dutch neighbourhood waste removal is a wonderful thing. Each house is issued a pass, which opens a large metal container that buries deep into the ground and holds all of the garbage for the houses in the area. Each day, to the delight of my small child, a truck comes, attaches to the top of the container, lifts it up and dumps the refuse into it's belly before returning it to the ground.
It wasn't always this way. Before there was the hole, each house had a standard issue black bin that needed to be wheeled out to the street once week and then retrieved the next day. When the hole was built, the city collected the bins, but somehow, we missed the memo, leaving us with a big black bin in our small backyard. Instead of fessing up and turning the bin in like we should have, J drilled a few holes in it and - just like that - we had a compost bin.
At first, in my enthusiasm, I composted everything. All the time. I saw myself as an urban environmental warrior. Then, as winter set in, I became less enthusiastic until, citing snow and ice, I called a temporary cease. As spring warmed the air, I started feeling more inclined to wander outside without a jacket for the sake of a banana peel and a few egg shells. That is until, in the full heat of summer, the stench, the fruit flies and the spiders claimed the mulch and slowly rotting fruits and vegetables as theirs. And so, this is how I've come to mark the seasons. In the spring and fall, the compost is mine; in the winter and summer it lies fallow.
This summer, though, has been different. Perhaps it's apathy, perhaps it's the unseasonably cold weather, but I haven't been able to find the motivation for it this year. I've been feeling a bit guilty about it though, and as luck would have it, I think I've hit on the solution.
One of D's favorite pastimes is feeding the animals at the local petting zoo. Currently, there is a large mama pig with ten piglets, loads of sheep and goats, and several aggressive peacocks. This being the Netherlands, bread is plentiful and cheap (except for us what with gluten-free bread being almost pricier than gold), meaning that many families show up with an entire bag full of fresh bread. The animals expect this and, with the exception of the lamas and sheep, all go all of which go crazy at the site of a slice of bread. Although the animals are kept behind a fence, the fence isn't locked and people are free to run around inside in order to try and pet the goats and sheep, but normally, the children stand at designated feeding stations. At the site of bread, the mama pig will push her babies out of the way, and it's quite common for the goats to lock horns over a piece of crust.
Up until my brilliant 'aha' moment, we'd been feeding the animals the leftover crusts that D, with her two year old reasoning, finds icky. I'm not sure why it took me so long to figure out, perhaps because I've never seen anyone else offer anything but bread, but one day it occurred to me that if they would eat bread, they surely they would eat other foods too. And so, yesterday, having collected a few scraps, off we headed to our new 'compost' system. Success! The mama piggy fought with her babies of the apple cores and a few slices of lettuce. Not those goats, though. They turned up their noses at the lettuce and the apples. They're good Dutch goats, through and through.
It wasn't always this way. Before there was the hole, each house had a standard issue black bin that needed to be wheeled out to the street once week and then retrieved the next day. When the hole was built, the city collected the bins, but somehow, we missed the memo, leaving us with a big black bin in our small backyard. Instead of fessing up and turning the bin in like we should have, J drilled a few holes in it and - just like that - we had a compost bin.
At first, in my enthusiasm, I composted everything. All the time. I saw myself as an urban environmental warrior. Then, as winter set in, I became less enthusiastic until, citing snow and ice, I called a temporary cease. As spring warmed the air, I started feeling more inclined to wander outside without a jacket for the sake of a banana peel and a few egg shells. That is until, in the full heat of summer, the stench, the fruit flies and the spiders claimed the mulch and slowly rotting fruits and vegetables as theirs. And so, this is how I've come to mark the seasons. In the spring and fall, the compost is mine; in the winter and summer it lies fallow.
This summer, though, has been different. Perhaps it's apathy, perhaps it's the unseasonably cold weather, but I haven't been able to find the motivation for it this year. I've been feeling a bit guilty about it though, and as luck would have it, I think I've hit on the solution.
One of D's favorite pastimes is feeding the animals at the local petting zoo. Currently, there is a large mama pig with ten piglets, loads of sheep and goats, and several aggressive peacocks. This being the Netherlands, bread is plentiful and cheap (except for us what with gluten-free bread being almost pricier than gold), meaning that many families show up with an entire bag full of fresh bread. The animals expect this and, with the exception of the lamas and sheep, all go all of which go crazy at the site of a slice of bread. Although the animals are kept behind a fence, the fence isn't locked and people are free to run around inside in order to try and pet the goats and sheep, but normally, the children stand at designated feeding stations. At the site of bread, the mama pig will push her babies out of the way, and it's quite common for the goats to lock horns over a piece of crust.
Up until my brilliant 'aha' moment, we'd been feeding the animals the leftover crusts that D, with her two year old reasoning, finds icky. I'm not sure why it took me so long to figure out, perhaps because I've never seen anyone else offer anything but bread, but one day it occurred to me that if they would eat bread, they surely they would eat other foods too. And so, yesterday, having collected a few scraps, off we headed to our new 'compost' system. Success! The mama piggy fought with her babies of the apple cores and a few slices of lettuce. Not those goats, though. They turned up their noses at the lettuce and the apples. They're good Dutch goats, through and through.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Cupcake crazy
Ever since the big celiac diagnosis, I've been really enjoying experimenting with gluten free baking. For Jason's birthday a little while ago, I went a bit nuts and tried to make chocolate, gluten-free, dairy-free cupcakes. The gluten-free part worked, but the dairy...whooboy. It's just not that great without the butter. For my birthday, I thought I'd give it another try, but this time make vanilla flavoured ones, with all the dairy added. And I do mean 'all' the dairy. This recipe was heavy on the butter-y goodness. Surprise! It worked. Well. I ended up with an absolutely delicious, light, sweet but not too sweet cupcake that was melt in your mouth good. Bonus, I've really been enjoying the process of learning to decorate. For a second try, I'm thinking that this isn't too bad :)
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Love it/Hate it
I love the fact that I live in a country where every grocery store has, right along side the full-size grown-up carts, little carts for little people. Do other countries have these? I don't know, but I have trouble picturing my little busy body wandering around in one of the massive box grocery stores that I remember from home. It kills me to watch her put the coin into her little cart and then push it around the store, sometimes getting distracted and wandering off, but most of the time, dutifully and enthusiastically, helping find the bananas, or the tomatoes. She loves the feeling of independence it gives her and it makes life a lot easier than having her squirm in the cart for the entire trip.
What I hate is that the stores have figured out that little shoppers, along with helping put things into the cart, actually like to have a say in what ultimately goes into the cart. Certainly, I've known that what you're expected to buy is at eye level, but it had never occurred to me that this would apply to adults as well as toddlers. Since my eyes have rarely wandered down to those bottom rows unless I'm really searching for something special, I've finding that up until now, I've been oblivious to a whole range of products. I'm looking at you, Bob the Builder Luncheon Meat! And don't think I haven't got a bone to pick with you, too, Disney Princesses Cupcake Mix. Since I don't actually cave to the many, many, many items that somehow find their way into our cart each week, I suppose I should be grateful for the many, many, many 'teaching opportunities' that are presented to me, but mostly, I'm just annoyed.
What I hate is that the stores have figured out that little shoppers, along with helping put things into the cart, actually like to have a say in what ultimately goes into the cart. Certainly, I've known that what you're expected to buy is at eye level, but it had never occurred to me that this would apply to adults as well as toddlers. Since my eyes have rarely wandered down to those bottom rows unless I'm really searching for something special, I've finding that up until now, I've been oblivious to a whole range of products. I'm looking at you, Bob the Builder Luncheon Meat! And don't think I haven't got a bone to pick with you, too, Disney Princesses Cupcake Mix. Since I don't actually cave to the many, many, many items that somehow find their way into our cart each week, I suppose I should be grateful for the many, many, many 'teaching opportunities' that are presented to me, but mostly, I'm just annoyed.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
A different perspective
Life abroad is a strange confluence of states of being. It is at once exotic, confusing, challenging, and mundane. The longer one is away, the more the balance tilts towards the mundane. This is at once good and bad. Trepidation is replaced by confidence, you've navigated most of the red tape and come out the other side stronger for it, the customs and culture are more familiar and so you're less likely to offend, or be offended, you know where to buy your favorite toothpaste, you've made a few friends. Life becomes easier. It's unfortunate, though, that the trade off is that daily life looses a bit of sparkle. Slowly, slowly, bit by bit, so subtly that you barely notice it, the newness of it all wears off and just becomes...life. The houses on your street are no longer quaint, they're just the place where you live (and why can't the city do something about that missing cobblestone, already?), a trip to the grocery store is no longer an adventure, instead it's simply a quick errand to pick up some milk. You try very hard to remember to appreciate what you have, but sometimes, when you're running late, you're trying to herd a cranky toddler, and you realize that you have cereal in your hair and the girl at the check-out is seemingly deliberately misunderstanding you, it's tough to do.
You never fully forget, though. Every once in a while, when you least expect it, the fates hand you a gift and say 'Here! Take a look at this!' and you remember that yes, you have a gift in this incredible foreign life. Such was it yesterday.
The Dutch have a word for their obsession for skating - schaatskoorts, or skating fever. Every year, as the temperature drops, the word is on everyone's lips as they collectively wait anxiously for the ice to thicken. This year was no exception, and was perhaps even more so as it had been unseasonably warm all year and hope was almost lost. When the thermometer finally fell, fast and hard, the conditions were perfect for ice formation.
Saturday afternoon, we were able to get out and enjoy it. Although the entire city seemed to have sold out of skates, we were still able to get down onto the canals and walk around the city, admiring the beautiful bridges, the old buildings and the houseboats. Along with the rest of the city, we slowly made our way around the star-shaped canals that ring Zwolle's centre, enjoying the festive atmosphere as we stopped to chat with neighbours and for a warm Chocomel from one of the impromptu cafes that had popped up on the ice. It was magical. As we walked, I had a feeling that I haven't experienced in quite a while, a feeling that seems to have swelled from my heart, a feeling that said 'Wow!!!! I can't believe how lucky I am to live here!'
You never fully forget, though. Every once in a while, when you least expect it, the fates hand you a gift and say 'Here! Take a look at this!' and you remember that yes, you have a gift in this incredible foreign life. Such was it yesterday.
The Dutch have a word for their obsession for skating - schaatskoorts, or skating fever. Every year, as the temperature drops, the word is on everyone's lips as they collectively wait anxiously for the ice to thicken. This year was no exception, and was perhaps even more so as it had been unseasonably warm all year and hope was almost lost. When the thermometer finally fell, fast and hard, the conditions were perfect for ice formation.
Saturday afternoon, we were able to get out and enjoy it. Although the entire city seemed to have sold out of skates, we were still able to get down onto the canals and walk around the city, admiring the beautiful bridges, the old buildings and the houseboats. Along with the rest of the city, we slowly made our way around the star-shaped canals that ring Zwolle's centre, enjoying the festive atmosphere as we stopped to chat with neighbours and for a warm Chocomel from one of the impromptu cafes that had popped up on the ice. It was magical. As we walked, I had a feeling that I haven't experienced in quite a while, a feeling that seems to have swelled from my heart, a feeling that said 'Wow!!!! I can't believe how lucky I am to live here!'
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Bad mommy?
My toddler is sick. For two days now, she's been vomiting and having diarrhea. Not a whole lot, mind you, but make no mistake, the girl is sick. And yet, a very teeny, very tiny part of me is loving it. Not the vomit part. Not the diarrhea part either. Certainly not the part where I have to watch my formerly vivacious, outgoing, funny, energetic child turn into a tired zombie. But, the part where all she really wants to do is sit on my lap and cuddle? I'm all in!
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Put a bird on it, or, belated merry Christmas to me
The Dutch start the holiday season early*. As it's not really the point of this post, I won't go into detail (but if you'd like to know more, you can follow up at Wikipedia), but suffice to say, it all begins in late November. The overeating, the festive spirit, small children constantly bordering on expectant hysteria....and....the gift giving. We celebrate with the Man's family, and this year we went traditional. We set a maximum price and then everyone drew names, made a list and went away for a year.
I drew the Man's aunt, who has excellent and exacting taste, which made me both a little bit nervous and, oddly, also set me at ease. I could figure out, more or less, what she would like; I just wasn't sure that I would be able to find it for the price range we had set ourselves. Before leaving the house, I narrowed down her list to the two things that I thought that I could probably manage to find; namely a nicely decorated wooden kitchen paper towel holder, and a wind chime. I'll admit - the wind chime I got. The paper towel holder, though, notsomuch. Still, I looked, and I looked, and I looked and everywhere I found expensive wind chimes. And I found plain wooden holders. And nice metal holders. But no attractive, wooden, paper towel holders. Lord knows, I looked and looked.
In all of this searching, though, I also found buried at the back of a quirky little store, the paper towel holder of my dreams. When I first spied it, I thought it was lovely, but not quite what the Aunt would have wanted. It wasn't wood, it wasn't painted. Still, I'd keep going back to look at it. And then, finally, I found a nice wind chime. Thank goodness. Sinterklaas was saved! I stopped thinking about paper towel holders and moved on to Christmas gifts for the Man and the Toddler. Apparently, it stuck in my head though, because when I opened my gifts on Christmas morning, I was secretly a little bit sad that it wasn't one of my presents; this despite the fact that I hadn't really even hinted at it.
Today, when I was riding past the store, I noticed that they were having a post-Christmas sale and, as if some other force was controlling me, I found myself walking in and buying it.
We've been watching the Portlandia series (which I highly recommend) and the moment the Man saw it in the kitchen, the very first thing out of his mouth was "Put a bird on it".
Monday, December 12, 2011
Thing #1 that I love about living in the Netherlands
The husband has a thing against flowers. Not the flowers themselves, I should note, but the ultimate waste that they embody. Nevermind that they brighten up a room, your day, your soul... The fact that they take up a large area of arable land, a lot of water and die so quickly means that they are environmentally flora non grata in our household.
There's a loophole, though. It's absolutely the height of poor manners to go visiting in the Netherlands without a gift. This usually takes the form of wine, or cheese, or, if I'm lucky, flowers. Yesterday, I was lucky enough have a visitor who brought a bit of environmentally wasteful joy into my house and I thought I would share a picture...
(Apologies for the poor quality, it was taken with my Mac photo library since the husband was away and had the camera.) (Also, apologies for the abacus. Toys are unavoidable in my house.)
There's a loophole, though. It's absolutely the height of poor manners to go visiting in the Netherlands without a gift. This usually takes the form of wine, or cheese, or, if I'm lucky, flowers. Yesterday, I was lucky enough have a visitor who brought a bit of environmentally wasteful joy into my house and I thought I would share a picture...
(Apologies for the poor quality, it was taken with my Mac photo library since the husband was away and had the camera.) (Also, apologies for the abacus. Toys are unavoidable in my house.)
Friday, December 9, 2011
'Tis the season
I don't believe that it's Officially Christmas until I hear Do They Know it's Christmas by Band-Aid (it has to be the 80's version, thankyouverymuch). The catch, though, is that it has to be played independently. I can't play it for myself. Rather, I have to hear it on the radio, in a store, in someone's car... There are years when it comes down to the wire (the tinsel?) and I really think that there will be no Official Christmas, but the song has always come through at the last moment.
This year, though, I cheated. I was too excited to share it with the Dude. I've been playing all sorts of Christmas carols for her, by everyone from Nana Mouskouri to Boney M to random children's choirs in order to indoctrinate her. Sinterklaas just has such a following here; no one is really representing Santa and I've been working overtime to make sure that she gets in the spirit, or as much as a two year old can. She's been enjoying the carols to some degree, but nothing so far has really grabbed her the way that Sinterklaas songs had. Until. Until! Until....I played IT! We listened to it over and over and over this morning, and we were both in heaven. It makes me wonder if it is possible to pass an 80's gene on to your child?
This year, though, I cheated. I was too excited to share it with the Dude. I've been playing all sorts of Christmas carols for her, by everyone from Nana Mouskouri to Boney M to random children's choirs in order to indoctrinate her. Sinterklaas just has such a following here; no one is really representing Santa and I've been working overtime to make sure that she gets in the spirit, or as much as a two year old can. She's been enjoying the carols to some degree, but nothing so far has really grabbed her the way that Sinterklaas songs had. Until. Until! Until....I played IT! We listened to it over and over and over this morning, and we were both in heaven. It makes me wonder if it is possible to pass an 80's gene on to your child?
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Different Strokes
Am I the only person who finds this video to be completely paternalistic and overly saccharine?
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Horse and Carriage
When I made the decision to move to the Netherlands to be with Jason, it was a leap of faith. We'd been a couple for just over five months and had only been on the same continent for maybe four weeks in total. We were lucky that he lived in a country that accepted at face value that we were, in fact, a couple. Had he been living in a country like the UK or the USA, I'm not sure if we would have been willing to go from zero to married in such a short time.
The irony in that, though, is that by the time we got through jumping through all the hoops required for me to live here, we actually felt married. First, our finances were tied together - we had to pool our money to meet the requirement, and then I stayed at home while Jason supported us that first year when I couldn't work. On a more subtle level though, we had to sign paper after paper after paper saying that yes, we were in fact a couple, and no, we were not married to anyone else.
We're three and a half years on from that and have added a few more trappings of a traditional marriage - one mortgage and one baby. Throw in the fact that it's easier in Dutch to say that Jason is my 'man', or husband, and he finds it easier to say 'vrouw', or wife, rather than the girlfriend alternative and I sometimes forget that we're not actually man and wife.
Despite our ambivalence, though, we've decided for a variety of those most romantic of reasons - legal ones - to tie the knot while we're at home in Canada this summer. To offset the fact that we're neither of us too excited about what feels like a redundancy of a ceremony, we're trying to plan the biggest and bestest party that we can. Even so, I'm finding that I'm not really the kind of person who gets overly excited about what colour the tablecloths should be, or whether or not we need a receiving line. I like parties. Party-planning, not so much.
What I do like is research and writing. We've got a lot of guests coming from out of town and to that end, I've created a website that will hopefully act as a helpful resource in finding a place to stay, a place to eat, and a bit of entertainment. You can view it here if you're interested. Like everything in my life, I do this around the small one's schedule so it's a work in progress, but I'm liking the way it's coming together. It's like my wedding gift to myself.
The irony in that, though, is that by the time we got through jumping through all the hoops required for me to live here, we actually felt married. First, our finances were tied together - we had to pool our money to meet the requirement, and then I stayed at home while Jason supported us that first year when I couldn't work. On a more subtle level though, we had to sign paper after paper after paper saying that yes, we were in fact a couple, and no, we were not married to anyone else.
We're three and a half years on from that and have added a few more trappings of a traditional marriage - one mortgage and one baby. Throw in the fact that it's easier in Dutch to say that Jason is my 'man', or husband, and he finds it easier to say 'vrouw', or wife, rather than the girlfriend alternative and I sometimes forget that we're not actually man and wife.
Despite our ambivalence, though, we've decided for a variety of those most romantic of reasons - legal ones - to tie the knot while we're at home in Canada this summer. To offset the fact that we're neither of us too excited about what feels like a redundancy of a ceremony, we're trying to plan the biggest and bestest party that we can. Even so, I'm finding that I'm not really the kind of person who gets overly excited about what colour the tablecloths should be, or whether or not we need a receiving line. I like parties. Party-planning, not so much.
What I do like is research and writing. We've got a lot of guests coming from out of town and to that end, I've created a website that will hopefully act as a helpful resource in finding a place to stay, a place to eat, and a bit of entertainment. You can view it here if you're interested. Like everything in my life, I do this around the small one's schedule so it's a work in progress, but I'm liking the way it's coming together. It's like my wedding gift to myself.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Ode to my Converse
Oh Converse,
When I was young and desperately wanting to look cooler than I felt, you made me feel like I could have been in the Ramones.
When I grew older and felt comfortable in my own skin, you were comfortable on my feet.
Now, when I am yet older still, but am once again needing to look cooler than I feel, you give my mom clothes, and my ego, the edge I need to not succumb completely into the fleece sweaters and elastic waistbands wasteland.
Thank you.
When I was young and desperately wanting to look cooler than I felt, you made me feel like I could have been in the Ramones.
When I grew older and felt comfortable in my own skin, you were comfortable on my feet.
Now, when I am yet older still, but am once again needing to look cooler than I feel, you give my mom clothes, and my ego, the edge I need to not succumb completely into the fleece sweaters and elastic waistbands wasteland.
Thank you.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Monday, April 18, 2011
Chomp
Yesterday afternoon, I noticed that a lone pansy had grown in the middle of our backyard. I don't know where it came from, because there are no pansies growing in the area, but it's little face sure was cute.
Last night, it rained.
Today, the head of the pansy is gone, save for a tiny bit of one leaf. I expect that will be gone soon, too.
Damn you, snails. Damn you.
Last night, it rained.
Today, the head of the pansy is gone, save for a tiny bit of one leaf. I expect that will be gone soon, too.
Damn you, snails. Damn you.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Stumbling towards domesticity
Once upon a time, I *did* things. I read, I went to 'gigs', I drank lattes and read the paper in cafes, I went to the gym, I had a job, I traveled (Note: you can read a bit about that here). What I didn't do was partake much in the domestic arts.
Then, I got married, moved to a sleepy town in Holland and had a baby. Now, I do other things. I do laundry, I change diapers, I go for walks, I make dinner, I do dishes...Well, okay, I still travel a bit, but traveling with a baby is a whole different beast. Somehow, I've traded in being informed and worldly for being a housewife and mother.
Still, if you're going to do something, you might as well do it well, right? To this end, I've started teaching myself to cook. I've bought a sewing machine and have attempted a few items, I'm trying to make garden, I bake, I do my best to reduce, reuse and recycle and most important of all, I'm trying to raise my daughter as best as possible. This is the chronicle of my journey towards domestic bliss.
Then, I got married, moved to a sleepy town in Holland and had a baby. Now, I do other things. I do laundry, I change diapers, I go for walks, I make dinner, I do dishes...Well, okay, I still travel a bit, but traveling with a baby is a whole different beast. Somehow, I've traded in being informed and worldly for being a housewife and mother.
Still, if you're going to do something, you might as well do it well, right? To this end, I've started teaching myself to cook. I've bought a sewing machine and have attempted a few items, I'm trying to make garden, I bake, I do my best to reduce, reuse and recycle and most important of all, I'm trying to raise my daughter as best as possible. This is the chronicle of my journey towards domestic bliss.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Gimme some suga'
Vanilla is non-existent in the Netherlands. Ask any ex-pat what they get friends and family to bring them from home, and the answer is inevitably 'vanilla'. I've mentioned this to Dutch friends, and they're always confused. "Well, it's right there in the supermarket", they say. "Perhaps you're not looking hard enough." To be fair, I've found small bottles of that nasty 'essence of vanilla' stuff, but the real thing has yet to appear to me. Thus, I've been toying with the idea of making my own vanilla. Of course, I've still got loads left from the family express. For fun, though, I've been looking into the exact 'how' of it, and low and behold, I came across something called 'vanilla sugar'. Turns out, it's vanilla infused sugar - you substitute a bit for regular sugar in place of liquid to liquid vanilla to same effect. And, sure enough, it's right there in the baking aisle of the grocery store. Huh.
Still, I've got an itch to make my own now. Today I went out and bought a mason jar, a vanilla pod, threw it all together and placed it in a dark cupboard I'm trying very hard not to peak.
Still, I've got an itch to make my own now. Today I went out and bought a mason jar, a vanilla pod, threw it all together and placed it in a dark cupboard I'm trying very hard not to peak.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Choices, Choices
After months of weighing our options, we've settled on a destination. Really, when it comes down to it, there's not all that much of a choice. With Jason working 2 1/2 hours away from Amsterdam, commuting was out of the question. We toyed, off and on, with the idea of moving to Dwingeloo, a village of under 3000, half an hour away from the nearest train station but within biking distance of Jason's work. If there's one thing I'm certain of though is that I'm not a country-livin' girl, so however picturesque Dwingeloo might be, it had to be veto-d.
This left two towns of any stature left within reasonable traveling distance, Groningen to the North, and Zwolle to the South. Of the two, Groningen is certainly more appealing. With a major university, the city is the only major center in the North of the country, making it one of the more youthful, active cities in the country. Zwolle, by contrast, is an unremarkable, smaller city an hour and a half North of Amsterdam.
Our first instinct was immediately Groningen. However, thinking a bit more critically, it became less clear that this was the obvious choice. While certainly a happening city, it's by no means got all that the South has to offer. Two and a half hours away from the international airport can make a huge difference when you've already spent 15+ hours on a plane, and this goes for both us as well as any visitors we hope to tempt into visiting us. The issue of visitors applies too to simply visiting the Netherlands. While I'd like to think that family and friends making the trip over here are here simply for us, the majority of the major tourist destinations are in the South, which would require them to stay in a hotel away from us, commute five hours a day, or simply forgo the pleasures that Delft, Gouda, Amsterdam et al have to offer.
Furthermore, even family relations within the Netherlands would likely suffer. Jason has a large and close-knit extended family here and like most Amsterdammers, anything half an hour or more away is simply unimaginably far. Which is fair, in the case anyway, as I certainly wouldn't be too pleased to be making a five hour round-trip for a three hour dinner.
And then, there's the question of work. While I have a contract in Amsterdam that will go until the 1st of January, I'm crossing my fingers that it'll be renewed. Even if it isn't though, I've started to create a small but growing network of contacts down here that would be less effective in the North. All in all, while Groningen sounds like a great place to live, it doesn't seem to fit our particular needs.
And so, by process of elimination, we've arrived at Zwolle.
This left two towns of any stature left within reasonable traveling distance, Groningen to the North, and Zwolle to the South. Of the two, Groningen is certainly more appealing. With a major university, the city is the only major center in the North of the country, making it one of the more youthful, active cities in the country. Zwolle, by contrast, is an unremarkable, smaller city an hour and a half North of Amsterdam.
Our first instinct was immediately Groningen. However, thinking a bit more critically, it became less clear that this was the obvious choice. While certainly a happening city, it's by no means got all that the South has to offer. Two and a half hours away from the international airport can make a huge difference when you've already spent 15+ hours on a plane, and this goes for both us as well as any visitors we hope to tempt into visiting us. The issue of visitors applies too to simply visiting the Netherlands. While I'd like to think that family and friends making the trip over here are here simply for us, the majority of the major tourist destinations are in the South, which would require them to stay in a hotel away from us, commute five hours a day, or simply forgo the pleasures that Delft, Gouda, Amsterdam et al have to offer.
Furthermore, even family relations within the Netherlands would likely suffer. Jason has a large and close-knit extended family here and like most Amsterdammers, anything half an hour or more away is simply unimaginably far. Which is fair, in the case anyway, as I certainly wouldn't be too pleased to be making a five hour round-trip for a three hour dinner.
And then, there's the question of work. While I have a contract in Amsterdam that will go until the 1st of January, I'm crossing my fingers that it'll be renewed. Even if it isn't though, I've started to create a small but growing network of contacts down here that would be less effective in the North. All in all, while Groningen sounds like a great place to live, it doesn't seem to fit our particular needs.
And so, by process of elimination, we've arrived at Zwolle.
Monday, November 3, 2008
My favorite Dutch word
I started intensive Dutch lessons yesterday, putting on hold the job search for the next month. I've been in the Netherlands for a little under two months now and have managed to pick up a few essentials but they tend to be a hodgepodge of nouns with very few conjunctions, verbs or adjectives. Basically, I can point and name vegetables, fruits and beers.
The next month will find me in class from 9.30 to noon everyday and studying at home from 12.30 until the wee hours, cramming in over three thousand words. It sounds impressive and I can already attest to the amount of work involved, but this weekend, Jason stole their thunder. He taught me the greatest Dutch word in existence.
We were at an outdoor field hockey match on a rainy cold Sunday when I learned it. I was wet and chilled and as we walked past a french fry stand, the smell of warm, greasy potatoes wafted over, filling the air with one of life's sweetest smells. And, you gotta love them, the Dutch have a word for it -- pataatlucht, or 'sweet potato air'.
The next month will find me in class from 9.30 to noon everyday and studying at home from 12.30 until the wee hours, cramming in over three thousand words. It sounds impressive and I can already attest to the amount of work involved, but this weekend, Jason stole their thunder. He taught me the greatest Dutch word in existence.
We were at an outdoor field hockey match on a rainy cold Sunday when I learned it. I was wet and chilled and as we walked past a french fry stand, the smell of warm, greasy potatoes wafted over, filling the air with one of life's sweetest smells. And, you gotta love them, the Dutch have a word for it -- pataatlucht, or 'sweet potato air'.
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