My ode to my mum

 Mum’s and their stories: This is mine about my mum

It is the 1st of May. Labour Day in some parts of the world. It is also the anniversary of my mother’s birth. She was born 99 years ago today in the Netherlands. It is Labour Day there too, just like here in France, where I am at the time of writing this story.

The sun is just warm enough to feel like a smooth caress on my skin. The breeze brushes over my arms and face, ensuring I don’t over heat. I do have to squint a little as I’m not wearing my sunhat. I left it at home. Silly me. I love that hat. I remember buying it as if it were yesterday. In Workum it was, in the Netherlands. To be really precise, it was in the province Fryslân and along the main street. The shop sold all sorts of holiday necessities. Fishing gear, gumboots, sun hats of all description and lots of bits and bobs tourists go for in wee places like this.

I was with Annette at the time. Annette and I were just playing tourist, well she was for real, being a kiwi holidaying abroad, and me, well I belong to the Frysian landscape. It’s in my blood. We were both just having a few days sightseeing in this part of the Netherlands before sailing across the water and heading into Wales. Two ‘besties’ needing a sunhat each during the summer of 2018. But I digress.

The 1st of May 1923. My mother was to be the last baby my grandmother would bear. The doctor was quite adamant about that. My mum was baby number 9 of which 7 saw adulthood. Four boys and three girls. From tales which I can recall was that mum had a worry free childhood. She became an aunt at 11 years of age. Her eldest sister married and started her family. They lived at walking distance and as the family additions arrived, mum was often engaged in helping out with nappies, washing and other tasks to help complete those mundane chores for the busy young mother.

War broke out. My mum was a teenager. Brothers went to war breaking my grandmother’s heart. Yes, they returned home, but not unscathed. The experiences they had coloured their lives. 

Mum’s scholing and subsequent career choice, she trained as a kindergarten teacher, was marred in many ways as a result of that war. 

Mum was very close to her 2 year older sister, Evelien ( Eef or Eefie to those who knew and loved her) and as young women they were often in each other’s company. 

Marriages happened.

My parents met in 1946, and married 6 weeks later. A whirl wind courtship, again as a result of war. Tongues did wag mum told me. Even then, and maybe especially then, people were suspicious and judgemental.

My dad was due to be sent out to Indonesia and he would be away 3+ years at best. As a married soldier, he earned more, and mum could stay living at home with her parents. A shortage of housing was also prevalent. Many married couples and the birth of children were events that took place in parental homes of either partner. In this case, my eldest brother, sister and I were born in my mum’s family home. 

Finally in 1953, my parents were allocated a home of their own. We moved to a ( then) wee place called Dieren in Gelderland. Dad was back at the railway and to help make ends meet, mum sewed plastic items. At home, for a company which utilised home workers. That was ideal for a family like ours with four children and a husband who worked shifts.

I recall it a fine time. Though there were the odd hiccups. After mum had my brother she needed some time out. Also there appeared to be an arthritic situation whereby mum received painful injections from the district nurse. I so remember having to ‘go play outside’ while mum was treated. Apparently the injections were extremely painful. Later she told me, she was scared of frightening us in case she yelled out in pain. Poor mum.

 I have always had the idea mum missed being closer to her family as a car in that time wasn’t even a thinkable possibility. So the bonus of dad working for the railway was a gift. We had free travel. And visit family we did. Aunts and uncles, grandparents. It was during those visits we children got to meet our cousins. 

A new prospect for a future arose. We were to immigrate to a country so far away it was hard to imagine how one would even get there. Reality also being, once there, there would be no going back. It was 1961. We all needed to learn to speak English, children and adults alike. We had to pack up, de-clutter and farewell all we knew and loved. My parents set us off on a great life changing journey. For my mum, the distance now being created between her and those she loved, must have been heartbreaking. How she kept up her spirits up is a mystery. It must have hurt lots. 

The new life was soon not that new. We fitted in. Mum went to work in a factory sewing bras, yes indeed. Dad spent 5 minutes with the NZ railway but that wasn’t a success so he changed jobs a few times before he found his feet. Then, lo and behold, another baby arrived. Mum was 43 at this stage. More drastic changes were afoot in 1966.

We arrived back in the Netherlands for an indefinite time. My baby brother needed health care. Mum left her eldest son behind on the wharf in Auckland. The parting wasn’t to be forever but we didn’t know that then. After a space of 5 years and many ups and downs, we returned to New Zealand in 1971. 

Dad died on 4th November 1999 and mum spent quite some time missing her husband of 53.5 years. She died in 2011, just after midnight on the 1st of January. Their ashes are both interred at the cemetery just outside Hamilton, New Zealand. 

As I am writing this, hearing birds chirping in the background, the breeze is less, the heat of the sun more felt, I am in awe of all my mum endured. I am sure she was happy - while the aches and sadness must have played a big part in her life too! I do know the immigration was dad’s dream and she helped him realise it. That it didn’t all go to plan I know dad’s philosophy was, “ that’s life”. And another one of his wisdoms was, Life, is another name for The school of hard knocks”! Yet he was a very optimistic person. What mum thought, she didn’t often say, but sometimes she’d nod and say, “just like dad says, that’s life”! 

Mum wasn’t spared joys or sorrows, health or sickness. Nor did she breeze through life’s challenges or avoid the struggles. Mum just faced, accepted and took on board all which came her way - in her own way. 

And me, I am back in the Netherlands. Somehow being in the country of  my parents and my birth is where I need to be. Yet I call New Zealand my home. 

Be good - be kind - keep smiling!

Link to: buying the hat

https://youtu.be/OWKyNSgmVag

Growing old-staying young

Link to my first blog

In 2012 I started blogging. It was just prior to my 60th birthday. My idea was, to write a wee something each day in my 60th year. Logging 356 days to look back on.  The opportunity to look back on 'a year well done.' A milestone reached.

It was a too big a task. I managed 81 'stories' in that first year. It would be my highest contributions ever on this blog. I was keen to learn. What works for me may not work for others. Do I care whether 80 or 801 people read my blog? My highest reader count is 1469, I was honoured, my least read is 22. The topic wasn't interesting enough I gather. But for me, something I can look back on and recall those moments I found important enough to write about. I'm happy if someone has gained anything at all by reading about my thoughts. I write to empty my head, to discover more about myself and to have this as a record of 'who I was' at the time of writing. In all honesty I can say that I've learnt as I went along. My 'opinions' or beliefs have continued to develop, adjusted themselves due to new insights and some have been confirmed over the years.

I maintain- that one is never to old to learn. And not just new things but also new thinking.

I started sorting my subjects into categories. I am bilingual, my children wouldn't be able to read my dutch blog which I started on the 17th July 2012. Writing, or blogging to be exact, kept me sharp in both languages. Being bi-lingual does mean one has to use both languages to practice the grammer. It is important to me that I keep up my English to be able to communicate with ease with my children, grandchildren and other family and friends. My native tongue, Dutch, is part of who I am, so being more than just capable of expressing myself is also imperative. It keep the cogs spinning.

As I said, one is never too old to learn.

My status as 'oma' provided another soapbox. Since 2015 I also write bi-lingually, about my life as oma. It keeps me on my toes, separates the topics I write about and also explains the reason why my annual contributions to each blog is limited. If I was to add them up, I'd be quite surprised. I don't write for the numbers, but to jot down events, thoughts and opinions that roam in my head. Some manage to end up being processed on my keyboard.

Juggling writing session in my daily and weekly schedule is a challenge- one is never too old to learn.

So I felt ready for another challenge. I've always loved photography on a amateur level. My computer groans under the weight of shots- many which are 'delete-able' and it's a job I've started tackling because I need to make space for my next learning curve.

In February last year ( 2018) I posted my first video on YouTube. Oooooh, was a nerve racking thing that was too. But I perservered and have learnt heaps since that day. Another challenge, another growth spurt and at 65+ glad I am able to challenge my grey matter into a new way of thinking. Not only am I able to express myself in word- I can now leave behind something more adventurous for my children and grandchildren. I'm still discovering new things, scared to try some others, apprehensive about tackling big projects- and enjoying the comments, images and adventures I've now committed visually to 'film' and embarked on this new adventure.


It is 2019 - I recall the moment our calendar changed from 1999 to 2000. It seems like only months ago. Life is 'Like an Hour Glass' with the sands of time spilling away so quickly. I want to make sure I fill the time I have with discovering new challenges and precious experiences.

One is never too old to learn. My opa used to say, "when my time is up I'll be able to sleep for as long as I like, for now, I'll keep busy doing whatever I can".

Great outlook, it obviously made an impression on me, as I was only very young when he died. I too will 'soldier on' and hopefully be inspired to keep challenging myself and continue to believe- one is never too old to learn.

It is always TODAY!

Many, many, many years ago I read a short article in the Reader's Digest about someone who focussed on 'the last time'. Not out of a sad and pessimistic point of view, but a reality many of us, certainly me, didn't (or don't) pay much attention to.

I even think that I have mentioned this before. Still, it obviously weighed a lot and I have stored that item in my mind - to occasionally haul back to the foreground of my memory. As it happened again this morning.

In my direct circle of family and friends there a a few people struggling with ill health. So much struggle that there is reason to believe that these people may, in the short term, leave this world and therefor leave gaps in my list of 'loved ones'. Now, this could happen to any of us. We are all flowers that bloom just one more day. No-one is guaranteed any amount of years. We get what we get.

I'm not mentioning this because I feel deflated, depressed, sad or negative. I just want to revive a thought, an idea that was brought to my intention years ago and it keeps fading into the background.

The idea that I may be sitting here at my desk for the last time. That I may have had coffee with my dear friend for the last time. That I may have slept next to my hubby for the last time. That I may have waved to my neighbour the last time. That I may have baked my last cake, cooked my last meal, read my last newspaper. Or it could be my husband, any one of my children grandchildren( heaven forbid) It has happened before. Who says it can't happen again?  In fact all those I know and love. Who knows what the next minute, hour or day will bring?

NO, I am not negative or a doom thinker. I think actually this thought, this awareness may just help me appreciate my loves and my daily 'doing's in a much more positive light.


Imagine your 1 year old taking her first steps! What a celebration. However, that cute crawl style she had that everyone ooohed and aahed over- is gone forever! Can you even remember how it looked, how she moved across the floor with such grace? Did you realise this might be gone forever? The last cuddle in bed, the last tooth that the fairy pulled, the last.........!

I guess what I am trying to say is, ENJOY EVERY MOMENT. Love those you love, give them your time, affection, understanding, space. Even if they are unaware or don't understand your efforts. Don't look too far ahead to what tomorrow may bring. Tomorrow never actually comes. It is ALWAYS TODAY!

CARPE DIEM - Seize the day. With both hands. Grab it, use it, fill it with love and kindness. That memory will stay forever. Even when it fades into nothingness, something will bring it back.

In a land that made me!

Take a break, make a cuppa, a brew or pour yourself a wine.

Read this carefully and let your memory unfold.

I have no idea who created this masterpiece - and I felt it deserved to be spread around.

This piece was written by someone who was born and raised in New Zealand.

I can claim some of that heritage as I spend half my life there.
So the shaping of me is also due to these memorable events.

Read and enjoy!

It is a long read , but soooo good for those of us born at the right time!

In the land that made me.

Long ago and far away, in a land that time forgot,
Before the days of Dylan , or the dawn of Camelot.
There lived a race of innocents, and they were you and me,
For Menzies was in the Parliament in that land where we were born,
Where navels were for oranges, and Peyton Place was porn.
We longed for love and romance, and waited for our Prince,
Eddie Fisher married Liz, and no one's seen him since.
We danced to 'Little Darlin,' and sang to 'Stagger Lee'
And cried for Buddy Holly in the Land That Made Me, me. 

Only girls wore earrings then, and 3 was one too many,
And only boys wore flat-top cuts, except for Jean McKinney.
And only in our wildest dreams did we expect to see
A boy named George with Lipstick, in the Land That Made Me, me. 

We fell for Frankie Avalon, Annette was oh, so nice,
And when they made a movie, they never made it twice.
We didn't have a Star Trek Five, or Psycho Two and Three,
Or Rocky-Rambo Twenty in the Land That Made Me, me. 

Miss Kitty had a heart of gold, and Chester had a limp,
And Tarzan was a loner whose co-star was a chimp.
We had a Mr. Wizard, but not a Mr. T,
And Oprah couldn't talk yet, in the Land That Made Me, me. 

We had our share of heroes, we never thought they'd go,
At least not Bobby Darin, or Marilyn Monroe.
For youth was still eternal, and life was yet to be,
And Elvis was forever in the Land That Made Me, Me. 

We'd never seen the rock band that was Grateful to be Dead,
And Aeroplanes weren't named Jefferson , and Zeppelins were not Led.
And Beatles lived in gardens then, and Monkeys lived in trees,
Madonna was Mary in the Land That Made Me, me.

We'd never heard of microwaves, or telephones in cars,
And babies might be bottle-fed, but they were not grown in jars.
And pumping iron got wrinkles out, and 'gay' meant fancy-free,
And dorms were never co-Ed in the Land That Made Me, me.

We hadn't seen enough of jets to talk about the lag,
And microchips were what was left at the bottom of the bag.
And hardware was a box of nails, and bytes came from a flea,
And rocket ships were fiction in the Land That Made Me, me. 

T-Birds came with portholes, and side shows came with freaks,
And bathing suits came big enough to cover both your cheeks.
And Coke came just in bottles, and skirts below the knee,
And Castro came to power near the Land That Made Me, me. 

We had no Crest with Fluoride, we had no Hill Street Blues,
We had no patterned pantihose or Lipton herbal tea
Or prime-time ads for those dysfunctions in the Land That Made Me, me

There were no golden arches, no Perrier to chill,
And fish were not called Wanda, and cats were not called Bill.
And middle-aged was 35 and old was forty-three,
And ancients were our parents in the Land That Made Me, me. 

But all things have a season, or so we've heard them say,
And now instead of Maybelline we swear by Retin-A.
They send us invitations to join AARP,
We've come a long way, baby, from the Land That Made Me, me.

So now we face a brave new world in slightly larger jeans,
And wonder why they're using smaller print in magazines.
And we tell our children's children of the way it used to be,
Long ago and far away in the Land That Made Me, me.

Those who didn't grow up in the fifties, have missed a great time in history...
Hope you enjoyed this read as much as I did... If So - PLEASE FORWARD it to someone who you think will appreciate it!

Ma, I forgot where I put my keys.

Yesterday I spent some time with my mother in law. 

Our relationship is quite a special one which I treasure. 

My husband's first wife died quite young and her mum is now my mother in law.

At 86 years of age she has had her share of joy and grief. Her husband died before her daughter. So she didn't have his shoulder to lean on or his arms to find her comfort in. Her childhood years were in an era that was so differed to ours - In today's world we discuss emotions and feelings. Talk about our problems and seek help for issues beyond our thinking.

Not in those earlier years. One didn't 'go to a councillor' when the going got tough. And yes, they got tough. Large families, small incomes and even smaller houses. Time together as a family was a precious commodity and treated with the utmost respect. You went to birthdays of your grandparents, aunts and uncles and cousins. ( I am somewhat generalising here - that goes without saying)! It is difficult to describe a sole existence of any one given situation when one wants to 'paint a picture' without actually having been there. I relate as I perceive the information I receive via stories told.

What I want to portray - is a portret of a strong woman - fabricated that way due to her perception of her world, her experiences and her drive to be independent and not 'burden' others with her tribulations. Her reflections and revelations about her youth and subsequent adult life have been a privilege to be audience to. I have a huge amount of affection and respect for this person who I am allowed to call Ma.

Anyway, I spent time with her yesterday and the subject of 'dementia and forgetfulness' was topic of the day. At one point ( we were doing some late spring cleaning) Ma said- " now why did I want to go upstairs?" She returned to the lounge and said, " do you remember why I wanted to go upstairs?" We looked at each other and laughed. "oh ma," I said, "don't tell me you are becoming forgetful!" Because we both get a bit het up when every time someone ( somewhat of age) forgets something- it is assumed this person is traveling down the road to forgetfulness, to dementia or alzheimer.

Now don't get me wrong- it is a horrible and devastating condition. And I am the last person to say that these illnesses are a laughing matter. THEY ARE AWFULL beyond words.

BUT: What I want to draw attention to - is the almost 'threatening' comment when someone, especially an older person, receives when they openly admit to having forgotten where they left their key, their purse, can't remember the long list of shopping or someone's birthday.

PLEASE; don't say " oh it's your age. Many people go senile, get dementia when they get older!" OR especially when you know the person well or the family background, " Oh forgetfulness it runs in the family. Granddad had alzheimer too!" Yes people these are some of the statements I hear around me.

To forget something DOESNT mean someone is 'losing grip on life and reality'. It simply means that one's head is full of information and it is crowded in the grey matter. Buy stating some of these negatives it is more than possible if not likely, that doubt and anxiety starts to creep in- and every little 'forget moment' is taken out of context and thus making the person insecure and uneasy.

When a child forgets it's lunchbox for school- one doesn't straight away come out with a statement pointing to dementia but tells the child to be more thoughtful. So why suspect an adult of 'losing their marbles?' The more doubts about ones sanity- the more likely the 'forgetful moments' are highlighted.

Anyway, Ma (86) and I (62) laughed each time she or I 'forgot' something and decided we were both as sane and as 'with it' as the next person. She remembered my name and I knew where the keys to the car were.

On this day, back in 1971

On this day, casting my mind back to 1971, I recall becoming an aunt for the first time.

Our family to-ed en fro-ed between Nederland and New Zealand between 1966 and 1971. We arrived back on the 16th of April. I remember that day so well. My sister, married to Lionel and living in New Zealand, was pregnant with their first child.

My mum, youngest brother Paul, only 4 years old and I (almost 18) arrived on their doorstep to stay a few months - while awaiting the arrival of my dad my other brother Lex and our crate with belongings from Nederland. We then would move into our own home. In the meanwhile we were guests in Glendene, staying with my sister and her husband.

The due date of the baby had been the pivotal item in our decision to arrive in separate units- so to speak. My mum was keen to be present and be a help for my sister after the birth of her first child. When my mum had her first 3 children she and dad lived with my (maternal) grandparents and she too had the comfort and assistance of her mum at the times of those births.

18 December 1971 - my very first nephew was born. Not only had i just embarked on a new fase in my life but I had also become an aunt. WOW!!

By being present in the home I was privileged to have had many moments to be able to hold, feed and cuddle this bundle of joy. When my sister needed some time out it was no problem at all to be 'aunty' and fulfill my role as such.

Because of the two special dates - being so close, these 2 events are remembered each year and thought back on with a certain fondness, melancholy and much present JOY!

M J

Happy birthday dearest first nephew. Thank you for my memories. I love you!

Tante Anita

...and there she was. My Flashback!

The day started out beautifully. Not only did I have the wonderful prospect of reuniting with a classmate, I had the chance to enjoy this in brilliant weather. ( see earlier Blog 'Flashback')

Nederland was going to put on a great face - it is mid October and we were heading for 22 degrees. Unheard of really.

The meeting was to take place en route to Brussels. Frances would board the train in Eindhoven and arrive at Roosendaal railway station at 11:09 Sunday morning.

Roosendaal is approx. 42 km from Papendrecht so not a lengthy journey. I had completed my morning ritual, husband was away for the weekend so a no fuss breakfast, listened to an online sermon and completed the pile of ironing that had been beckoning for a few days.

Decisions, decisions. What to wear. Lets face it - one wants to look GOOD after all that time not having seen each other! We have both celebrated that magical 60th birthday - well, enough said!

Although I was pretty sure how to reach my destination, I did check the whereabouts of the railway station. It all looked good. City Centre not too far from railway so we would have plenty of chat time.... before having to return to the station where Frances would resume her journey to Brussels.

And there I stood at 11:00 am, on the platform waiting for the train to arrive.

Would we recognise each other? 

How would the initial 'hello' go?

Can we fill 3 hours without thinking ' ho hum'?

Can I find a great coffee/tea spot?

Will we sit in the sun or inside?

I enquired by a railway employee about the inner city's whereabouts and what it had to offer in the way of refreshment possibilities - "sorry ma'am, can'r help you there - I am a visitor here". 

Wouldn't you just know it? So was I.

I looked towards the passengers that were making their way to the main entrance after arriving on the 11:09. And there, very recognisable, very so like the face and eyes I remembered ( not the hair colour- the face girls)- there was Frances. Dragging her luggage ever so adept behind her - she made her way to the out-gates. We embraced. Oh how good that felt.

While I had been waiting my daughter had sent a few messages so once we left the station I requested a 'selfie' so I could let Toni know my friend had arrived. Here we were, like a couple of schoolgirls - taking a selfie with suitcases on the pavement and a giggly shot - there it was. PROOF!

Frances was in town!

Need I say we had a terrific few hours? Need I say it felt so comfortable, so 'warm'  and special. No, not really. I bet some of you may have also had such an experience. I felt BLESSED, privileged and full of joy. What a perfect gift for a SUNDAY.

Yes, we have made plans, set a date for another get together. It won't happen in the near future - but it won't take 48 years either.

Frances, THANK YOU. Thank you for remembering me, my parents, my brother, my time at school and being in your company. Thank you that I didn't fade into nothingness along with so many other of life's happenings. I am SO glad to have you ( still) in my life.

See you again dear friend! Travel safe.

ps. I heard a lovely tale about my long blond hair.

Apparently (some of) the girls at primary school thought my blond, almost white hair was due to me drinken milk and water. They had never seen me drink cordial - so presumed the milk and water made and kept my hair white. AWESOME girls!! If that was the case - I am all for only milk and water again.......!