Meet Plume, our newly adopted family member.

We found her on Petfinder.com, she was in a shelter in the Lanaudière, about 70 km from Montreal We went there a week ago to meet her, but she was coughing so she couldn’t be spayed and we couldn’t take her right away.
She’s still not sterilized but the shelter called us that we could pick her up anyway and make an appointment with the veterinarian to do the spaying in a few weeks.

So today we drove again to the shelter to pick her up. We filled out some forms, paid the adoption and sterilization fee and let Plume jump into the car. On the way back she sat quietly in the car and just looked outside to the passing landscape. When we arrived back in Montreal, we first went for a walk to test how she acted away from the other dogs in the shelter. She passed with flying colours. She was great, pooped an peed when we entered the park and listened to our directions, and it looked like she already had accepted us as her new bosses. We even dared to let her go off-leash, and she ran from Alison to me when I called her, and in the other direction when Alison called her.

After the walk we took her home, and took her and Poupoune for a short walk around the block so they could get acquainted on neutral terrain. Then she entered her new home. This to great dismay of Poupoune who is in general not fond of other dogs, and in particular hates to share her house with other dogs. She’ll has to get used to her new housemate, the time she was the sole master of the house is over. Plume wants to play with her, but gets a growl in return. She has to play with other dogs, in the dog park; Poupoune only plays with humans.

Plume is a mutt, but we aren’t sure what breeds are in her pedigree. She’s definitely house trained, walks on the leash without pulling too much and even obeys when we call her. It doesn’t matter that she only bears the name Plume for a few days. It’s not a stray but either ran away from home and got lost, or the old owners dumped her when they went to hibernate in Florida. Or something like that.

Yesterday we made the house “Plume ready”: removed loose items from the floor, bought a water and food bowl for her (a very cool food bowl, with ribs so she can’t eat too fast) and a big bag of food. I also made a little door in opening of the broom closet door to block her from entering. The door starts about 20 cm from the floor and the resulting opening is just big enough for Poupoune to crawl in, so we can leave Poupoune’s food out and Plume can’t eat it. It also gives Poupoune her own den, so she can get some rest from the evil intruder.

Now Plume is lying on the floor in the kitchen in front of the fridge, attentively looking at the activity around her. I think she’s happy and I think we’re happy with her.

On our way for the American Thanksgiving celebrations with Alison’s family. Even though the weather predictions only mentioned “some flurries” we ended up in a snow storm near Mexico. No, not that Mexico, but the town of Mexico, in up-state New York. After some googling (an iPhone is really handy in the car to look up points of interest and to settle disputes) we found out that the region gets the most snow in all of the Eastern US. This is caused by the lake-effect from nearby Lake Ontario where moist air is blown ashore.

We managed to pass the storm without any damage although I saw some cars in the ditch and even saw a car, coming from the opposite direction, spin out and go straight into the median ditch right in front of me. A spectacular sight with a huge fountain of snow. The passengers seemed to be unharmed. In retrospect I should have called 911, but I’m not that used to having a cell phone on me.

It’s getting cold and I’m feeling lonely. I jump on the bed. Nice and warm under the duvet. I crawl towards the top of the bed, past the giant. Wait! What’s that? There is somebody else in my bed. A little white fellow. I growl ferociously at him and he backs away. Good. That’ll teach him who’s boss around here.

I turn and snuggle my back against the warm belly of the giant. I slowly rest my head on his knee and close my eyes. I hope the giant won’t twist and turn as often as he did last night. That really annoyed me and if he does it again I have to growl at him as well. There can only be one alpha dog in this bed.

We went to the US for the second time this week, this time to visit the annual Fourth of July barbecue at Alison’s uncle’s house in Cortland, upstate New York.

We booked late but nevertheless got the most spacious suite to sleep in: the gorgeous attic. Despite it being very hot during the day, at night it was remarkable cool and we slept very well.

Alison has a huge family (her grandparents had 11 children) and a lot of them (more than 50) travel from all over the country, from Hawaii to Cleveland, to attend. After 5 years I got to know them a bit so the whole reunion is not as much an ordeal as it was the first few times.

The owner of this attic is reading loglog so leave a comment and tell him what you think about his attic. Please keep it positive otherwise we aren’t allowed to book it for next year. Note the upside down hanging lamps he made for over the huge conference table at the right. Very original and nice.

Let’s start with a joke:

A man in Chicago calls his son in New York the day before Christmas and says, “I hate to ruin Christmas this year, but I have to tell you that your mother and I are divorcing; forty-five years of misery is enough.”

“Pop, what are you talking about?” the son screams. “We can’t stand the sight of each other any longer,” the father says. “We’re sick of each other, and I’m sick of talking about this, so you call your sister in Atlanta and tell her.”

Frantic, the son calls his sister, who explodes on the phone. “Like hell they’re getting divorced,” she shouts, “I’ll take care of this.”

She calls Chicago immediately, and screams at her father, “You are NOT getting divorced. Don’t do a single thing until I get there. I’m calling my brother back and we’ll both be there tomorrow. Until then, don’t do a thing, DO YOU HEAR ME?” and hangs up.

The old man hangs up his phone and turns to his wife. “Okay,” he says, “they’re coming for Christmas and paying their own way.” Via.

It sounded vaguely familiar.

The funeral was Saturday and it went well except for the hot air balloon that we tried to launch as a ritual but that nearly went up in flames, ripped open and finally ended being buried with my mother’s coffin instead of flying. I read a poem, and didn’t choke nor stutter. I almost started to cry when I made eye-contact with my best friend in the audience, but I changed my aim and it went away. It’s not that I’m afraid to cry in public, but I don’t like to do it in plain view. I also cry at funerals of people I don’t know, I even cry when there are funerals in movies. In short, I don’t like funerals.

There were a lot of people, considering my mother’s age and quite a few family members that I hadn’t seen in decades and probably never will see again. Not much to say that the usual “So you live in Canada now?” phrase. Many people asked me when I’ll come back and I honestly can’t say. I don’t envision attending the funerals of my brother and sisters and their spouses and offspring but maybe I’ll change my mind when that time will come. But the frequency of my visits will definitely go down. And the death of my mother will make me more Canadian, since there is one link less that ties me to the Netherlands. I will make less trips to Europe and spend the time and money on other trips. Hopefully I can explore the rest of Canada a bit. But I’m also a bit afraid of doing that; I might like it and secretly wish I had moved to Vancouver or Calgary instead of Montréal.

While in the Netherlands I can’t stop comparing: this is better, that is better, that is worse and OMG! this is really awful. I should compile the definite list someday. Seeing signs on the street like in the photo above doesn’t make this country more appealing. This was just after I wandered through a 99% Muslim neighbourhood where every apartment had their own satellite dish to watch Turkish or Moroccan television. In Québec there are currently discussions about integration of minorities, but that sight proved for me that in the Netherlands that integration clearly has failed. Or am I just watching the Netherlands through really dark sunglasses so everything looks dark and gloom? I honestly don’t know. What does suck is that my bike, borrowed from a friend, was stolen yesterday, probably because it had a very bad lock, but maybe also because I parked it in the wrong place. But Alison’s bike, also loaned to somebody, was also stolen in Montréal recently, so I can’t really claim Rotterdam is worse in that respect. The weather is far worse however, it rained every day last week and now it is dry but extremely cold. Only minus 1 degrees Celsius but it feels colder than -10 in Montréal because it is very humid and it is always windy here.

I’ll stop now, sorry for all the complaining. It is about time I do something constructive again. A few more days and I’ll fly home again, as a free man. I miss the dogs and Alison, and I want to see if I’m still able to ski.

Christmas comes early this year. After I came back from a day in Rotterdam to Nijmegen, where my mother and sister live she handed me my inheritance. All of the art my mother owned was described in a long notarized list and my brothers and sisters decided that it was better to give me my part now, because shipping would be too complicated. I thought the timing was a bit awkward, the night before the funeral, but I had no say in this. So now I have a suitcase filled with a couple of drawings and a water colour, an old Arab book illustration, an African sculpture, a tiny mexican sculpture (probably fake,) the snuff box of my father, a ring that belonged to my mother’s father and a collier made of rock crystal beads destined for Alison.

I hope it will fit all in my suitcase, because I also bought a couple of bottles red grapefruit sirup and lots of dropjes, since I have to stock up.

[This necrology I wrote while sitting next to my dying mother. It is rather factual probably because I’m not ready yet to become personal. It’s still too close, too recent. But I want to tell my mother’s story now as a way to distract myself and at the same time getting closer to her. There are certainly a lot of factual errors in it. I will talk to Amadou, her Mauritanian friend who considers her his second mother, to fill in some details and make additions and changes. It’s telling that he knows more about her life than her own children.]

Margrit was born in a upper middle class family in Sankt Gallen, Switzerland. Her father was head of the bleu collar civil servants, and amongst others responsible for hiring labourers for snow removal. He had a lot of friends when visiting a bar. She was the youngest of 4 children, two girls and one boy. Her mother became very ill when she was a toddler and spent her last years in bed. Because little Margrit was still at home she got a lot of attention from her mother, who told and read her a lot of stories. Her love of books and reading must have been originated at that age. The blow for her when her best companion died when she was 6 must have been quite fierce. Her father immediately started an affair with the live-in house keeper which surely didn’t help.

During her teens she got a major traffic accident that scarred her face and caused major damage in other areas.

Margrit went to university to study physical education. However after a year and a half she herself fell ill with tuberculosis. She spent two years in a sanatorium in the Southern Alps where she read a lot and had extensive conversations about religion with patients and staff. During this time she decided to change her religion from Protestant to Roman Catholic, much to the dismay of her family.

When she was cured she wanted to change subject and start to study medicine to pursue a career as a doctor but her father told her that her study funds had been depleted by the sanatorium dispenses and that instead she should get a job. And thus she started to work as a doctor’s assistant. She didn’t have any diplomas but soon she did many medical procedures because she was better at them than the doctor she worked for and he was not afraid to acknowledge that. She really liked her job but one night she found out that her boss also carried out (illegal) abortions which totally conflicted with her moral and religious beliefs. She quit her job and after some other small jobs managed to become a sports instructor and landed a position as a group leader and sports instructor at a boarding school for Dutch asthma patients and children of diplomats (the latter financed the other, poorer students) located on a steep cliff near Montreux overlooking Lake Geneva. There she met Karel, a Dutch Language teacher from the Netherlands who proposed to her shortly after they met. She hesitantly accepted. Soon thereafter the school was closing its doors because of a lack of funds and the pair got married in a ceremony in the school’s auditorium followed by a short honeymoon in a hotel at the other side of the lake to where they travelled in exotic modes of transportation like a funicular and a Mississippi paddle boat.

Immediately after the honeymoon, Margrit and Karel moved to the Netherlands where Karel, being a Dutch Language teacher, had more chance of landing a job. She never worked in the Netherlands, lacking the required certificates.

Even though it was a couple of years after the German occupation and the Second World War the Netherlands was still lacking resources and there were big housing shortages. So the pair moved in with Karel’s mother and youngest sister in Nijmegen, a university town in the East of the Netherlands. Margrit was shocked, being used to the rich Swiss circumstances where they gained from the war instead of suffered from it. Living in with her mother-in-law also caused a great deal of tension.

To their great joy Margrit became pregnant, even though the doctors had told her that conceiving a child would be impossible after her accident.

Their first child was a girl they named Aagje, and soon after her birth Margrit got pregnant again and a boy, Peter-Jan, was born. After a few months he suddenly died of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome leaving the young couple devastated. Soon thereafter, when Aagje was 2 and a half, they adopted Ronald.

Margrit got pregnant two more times and with Maaike and Barbara the family now consisted of 6 people.

They moved to another house, located opposite from the care facility that she lived in during the last year of her life and where she also died.

There, seven years after Barbara, Mark was born. Karel and Margrit tried to conceive another child as a playmate for him but after a late miscarriage their doctor strongly advised against getting pregnant again.

Even though she had many children Margrit never was a very warm and dedicated mother. The marriage with Karel was also not always easy as he often retired in his office to work on his dissertation, that he finally finished after 13 years, leaving most of the care for the 5 children to her.

She did the best she could but also tried to get as much away-time as she could by reading large quantities of books in as many as four languages. She wasn’t very happy in the Netherlands, but also didn’t feel welcome in Switzerland anymore when she visited there, but at least the books gave her an escape to live far more interesting lives in far more interesting places.

She was often plagued with health problems, had chronic and recurring bronchitis, a misdiagnosed herniated disk that was much later diagnosed as an inoperable cyst in her spinal column, causing a lot of back pain and painful pressure on certain nerves in her leg. She also suffered from rheumatoid arthritis, especially in the morning when she hadn’t moved for a while.

In 1970 they bought a house in the country near Nijmegen that belonged to their maid’s mother. The house was in terrible shape, basically a shack, but it was very nicely located near a pond and a forest, just on the other side of the dike along the Maas river. They saw the potential in this house and worked for many years to improve it and make it their Garden of Eden.

Then Karel’s aging mother moved in with the pair and their two youngest children who still lived with their parents. This caused a lot of tension in the family when Karel had to decide where his loyalties lied, with his wife or his mother. It culminated in Karel getting a major stroke that, although it didn’t cause physical damage, made him less capable to do his work and after a short while led to his early retirement.

A few years later, Karel developed a major manic episode during which Margrit didn’t feel save anymore so she left the house that she loved so much to live alone which eventually led to a divorce.

The divorce turned out to be very positive for Margrit. Instead of relying on his circle of friends she had to make her own now. She started to do volunteer work for the refugee aid organization “Vluchtelingenwerk” that made good use of her strong language skills, and became really good friends with a couple of refugees. She also went on long and adventurous organized hiking journeys to faraway countries where she often was the oldest participant, but nevertheless connected with some like-minded people. During these travels she also made strong connections.

After Karel finally acknowledged he was ill and received successful treatment for his mental problems they became good friends again, maybe better friends than before. But she didn’t want to give up her newly found independence by moving in with him again.

Karel’s death a few years later caused quite a stir in the relationship with a few of her children. Accusations were made back and forth and only after many years they came on speaking terms again.

Over the years Margrit’s health also began to deteriorate. She suffered from a series of Transient Ischemic Attacks (TIA) and then a major stroke on the day she bought a ticket to visit her emigrated son Mark in Canada. That stroke paralyzed the left side of her body which turned her suddenly from a very active hiker to a wheelchair bound. She had to leave her own house, had to get rid of a lot of her art and her beloved dog.

[I was writing this story while I was sitting beside Margrit’s deathbed. After writing the previous line my mother coughed twice and then stopped breathing and died.]

She was moved into a care facility where she spent her days reading and watching television. Her paralyzed leg became very painful and she required a lot of pain medication which in turn made her very drowsy. She couldn’t concentrate on complicated tasks and only pretended to read the books her friends brought her. Her friends played along, not wanting to make her feel more miserable as she already felt.

During a heat wave she developed serious pulmonary problems which resulted in yet another hospital visit. But her body wasn’t ready yet so her heart fully recovered. She also survived a double pneumonia combined with heart problems a year later.

In December 2007 her lungs started to deteriorate and she was often out of breath. When the nursing home doctor wanted to admit her to the hospital she refused and said she was tired of hospitals. They administered pain medication and she died peacefully after a couple of days, in company of her son Mark, who was coincidentally just visiting the Netherlands.

[photo: Goedele Monnens]

I’m sitting here in Nijmegen, the Netherlands, next to my mother. She’s trying to fight off another pneumonia. Yesterday she indicated that she didn’t want to be transported from the nursing home to a hospital. They are administering morphine in increasingly higher doses. She doesn’t talk anymore, just sleeps while breathing heavily. I hope she has nice dreams.

No, I didn’t go to the Netherlands for an emergency visit. This visit was planned a long time ago and I saw her two days ago, when she was still lively and alert. Things go fast sometimes. Coincidence? I don’t know.

This is the best way to clean those cheap plastic chairs. Just throw them in the pool, and the bleach will do the rest. Of course we don’t have a pool, but Alison’s parents do, and they happen to have their yearly barbeque (with real coal) today.

We help setting up the garden and preparing a lot of skewers with saumon, shrimp and scallops, mushrooms, bell pepper, onion and cherry tomatoes.

We brought Poupoune with us and happily vacuumed the grass under the guests. Whenever they dropped something (Mmm, salmon!) she was there to catch it.

Pepe was staying at Alison’s ex and sprinkled pee everywhere in the appartment. Bad dog.