I'm a bit tired of online presence at the moment. So, I'm turning the faucet off for a couple of days, to concentrate on other streams.

A couple of things blended in my mind today, and formed an interesting subject for a wordy post, long overdue.

I've been asking questions all my life - and rarely got the answer I was looking for. I did get awkward looks, especially when I was younger, because I had a knack for asking just the type of questions nobody wanted to answer. Perhaps this comes with the territory of being highly sensitive, I don't know. Or perhaps my family lacked the patience and enthusiasm to deal with my inquisitive mind.

As I grew older, I learned not to look to other people for answers, favours, and a shoulder to cry on. This was instilled in me at a very early age, I think. My mother was a tough cookie, dealing with hardship by curbing her feelings and focusing on practical stuff. My father was seriously ill for many years (cancer), and then he died. My siblings were on a whole other page. And I was the emotional counterweight, silently asking but never expecting.

Asking, but not expecting. Remember that phrase. It tells you the pattern of my life.

I met Top1, we got together and that helped, though this relationship has brought on a whole new series of questions. When Top3 and Top4 came along, my world turned upside down. I had not expected to find such quantities of pure, unadulterated love, an emotion not mingled with contempt. Because I had been so absorbed with my own silent questions all the time, I had not noticed that there are many different worlds out there. Worlds with fun family life in it, with unforeseen pleasures, with attention being given without the asking. Marvellous!

Then Top1 turned ill (Lyme's Disease, as you probably all know by now). And a new layer of questions unfolded in my life. What I had witnessed as a child (namely, that some people look away when they encounter a family in distress), I now witnessed as an adult. Doctors looked away, acquaintances looked away, some because they didn't care, some because they honestly didn't know how to help. At the same time, I did not know what to ask for. I had dealt with this type of situation before, silently, so obviously, I could do that again.

I did. It nearly killed me (not literally, but emotionally.) Working full-time as a translator, deep in the trenches of DIY on this house, with a sick partner who could barely make it through the day, two very bright and very upset little children, no family nearby, few opportunities to escape the house and a head full of images and words, I felt utterly alone, even though we have very supportive friends and relatives. The questions piled high. Slowly, I learned to turn inwards for answers.

To my surprise, that proved not too difficult. Most people seem to have a hard time sitting quietly, observing, waiting for an answer from within. I did not. I finally set up my studio, and answers came readily. My spirit soared.

I'm not saying this to be smug, because here's the deal: Though looking for answers within comes naturally to me, I still have a hard time asking other people for help or support. Sure, Top1's health has improved, but he'll never be 100% again. He's out of work, receives no benefits and is struggling to make a success out of his various treasure-filled webshops. My translation business is slow, with a few pick-me-ups now and then.

To top this all off, I've come up with a new way to smack my head into a wall of questions, writing a delicate and very personal novel I'd really like to publish when it's done. (Not to mention the fact that it breaks my heart to have a storage space full of paintings and drawings and so on, going nowhere.)

And then today, Roos, a young woman facing severe adversity with her ill husband (cancer) and small children, asked for financial support on her blog (or actually, a friend of her did, but she allowed it). I'm pretty sure she had to overcome some reservations in order to do that, but she did. She took a deep breath and asked. People welcomed her question, and supported her.

I admired her guts, and at the same time I was flabbergasted. This is it? You just ask? And then they help, no strings attached? People actually do that?

Oh my. I'm 38, dear friends. I've seen this type of appeal before, but it never hit home. Apparently, I've got a heck of a lot to learn...

(Now go here to support her if you want. The Dutch cancer association had a big fundraiser on tv the other week, which annoyed the hell out of me, because these organisations tend to be very ineffective and their appeals are gushing with Guilt Factor. Donating to Roos seems to me to be a very practical way to help, and her appeal is straightforward: "I'm flooded with medical bills. Could you spare a few bucks?")

I think she'll be knocking on doors in Cupertino, CA in about twenty years from now.

(They better be ready. Best designer they'll ever have, though quite headstrong. Not unlike their recently deceased guru, I believe.)

Ork Gretchins are Warhammer creatures. Our boy is besotted with this race, can you tell?

Cold. Sunny. A fairly big park with old trees. Lots of ducks. Lovely old homestead turned castle (always a pleasure to visit).

Oh, and did I mention it was sunny? That helps.

“If I were asked to say what is at once the most important production of art and the thing most to be longed for, I should answer: A beautiful house; and if I were further asked to name the production next in importance and the thing next to be longed for, I should answer: A beautiful book. To enjoy good houses and good books in self-respect and decent comfort, seems to me to be the pleasurable end towards which all societies of human beings ought now to struggle.”

William Morris, quite the Renaissance Man in Victorian times, had a keen eye for home decoration and wrote several volumes of poetry (amongst others).

I cannot claim fame for exquisite taste in home decoration, but I can give you a little impromptu poem of my own:

Home is where the hungry hog is,
thickly pasted natural lore
telling its tusks to grub some more

On its ittybitty mind are
dogged drops of love and laughter,
fodder constantly sought after

by many species round the globe,
though in this here fabrication
but one is saved from starvation


Please visit Francesca over at FuoriBorgo for more love and laughter at the homes of other Corner Viewers.

Apparently, the idea for the setting for the glass stone in this bronze bracelet came to Top1 late at night.

Being a sound sleeper, I never noticed, but I imagine he sat up straight, whispering "Eureka!" - and then fell asleep a happy man.

(He's made one in silver as well.)

We are lucky to have a farmer not far from our little village, who started his own produce shop years ago, and who loves a challenge.

So, when I started asking for parsnips, Jerusalem artichokes, lemons, sweet potatoes, and the like, he immediately called round to see if any of his connections could provide this for his shop.

I am sure I was not the only one asking for these less-than-obvious choices. One day he pointed to a corner of his immense shed and said: "There are some oyster mushrooms if you want them."

Then, a month or so later, he drew my attention to kumquats.

And last week, he proudly presented a case filled with medlars.

Now, I'm all for trying new stuff - there's a wealth of creativity involved in cooking - but instead of browsing the internet, I thought it might be fun to ask you if you have any suggestions for this Forgotten Fruit.

Our farmer advised me to leave them for a week or so. So, I'll let them sit in my studio, all neatly arranged, and check back here regularly to see if anyone has any suggestions!

This peace sign was soldered by Top1s father in the late sixties. (His parents were active in the Amsterdam peace movement.)

Researching peace, I stumbled upon an interesting paper mentioning "The concept of peace", a book by Scottish theologican and philosopher John Macquarrie, in which he dissects the concept of peace with an appealing combination of theology and philosophy. A quote from the paper (cannot find the book online, alas):

"Healing fractures" has to do with estrangement, alienation, bitter division and war. Fractures occur in many if not all aspects of human life including; a) war between and within nations, b) industry, in the form of Hegel's alienation, c) marriage and family with problems of creating and sustaining intimate relationships, d) alienation from nature as a result of overpopulation and increased technology creating an environmental crisis, e) alienation from reality itself in the sense of loss of existential meaning, and f) finally fractures occur within the individual such as indecision, conflicting emotion, and mental illness. The Christian concept of peace is the healing of fractures. In the Hobbesian view, fractures are taken as an inescapable part of existence and must be dealt with, perhaps preserved, or peace is not possible.

Forty years on, we're still hoping to incorporate more peace in our lives.

Sometimes the oddest places offer relief from daily burdens.

Even if the burden of Top1's troublesome health is now taken off our shoulders, we still face the constraints of working from home, in a small village where none of us really fit in. (Which is why we put the house up for sale.)

Money is getting tighter as well. We diligently save up for big splurges (such as Top3's first flight). On school days, most of our time is divided between office work, household chores and artistic endeavours. We try and come up with as much free and fun outings as we can, but cannot escape the fact that we're getting a bit lonely.

Top1 finds this difficult, whereas I am normally quite good at fighting monotony. But this afternoon, the walls caved in on me - I simply had to get out. I dropped Top4 off for her swimming lesson in the nearest town, then headed for a sunny spot in a local park.

Adjacent to the park is a cemetery. (I have no qualms about such places. Though death dominated my youth, cemeteries never were part of it. I walk lightly around graves. No tears. Not there.)

I took out my camera, and something magical happened. A poem evolved before my eyes, rife with images.

Two buckets (his & hers?) hung side by side, telling each other silly gravediggers' jokes.

An ornament softly whistled "Hello, Dolly" from all of its crevices when I passed by. I felt flattered.

Unhinged, a spooky cellar opening up to the far side of an empty field told of narrow escapes.

Though drains were provided for groundwater (which, granted, has no business in such a place), I was shocked to notice that its rite of passage was brutally sabotaged at the other side.

The cemetery made up for this faux pas with a sign politely informing the tall trees that yes, they were welcome to scatter their autumnal leaves. Which they did.

I was out and about for almost an hour. When I got home, I set to work on my portfolio site. This in itself is a grumpifying business, but I managed.

And then I allowed myself to inhale the story of the cemetery one more time, and posted it on this blog, for you.

This celeriac has been soaking what's left of its roots in a bowl with a little water. It befriended a couple of turnips, and sat in our rather murky bathroom quietly for a couple of days.

As it turns out, our "cellar" is not as effective as we'd like - dreaming of a better fate, the celeriac is now reaching for the sun...

More dreams over on Francesca's site, where Corner Viewers of the world unite!