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Bob and Amy It was a short distance to Hilversum through a beautiful wooded area. In town we found a map board and looked up Bob and Amy's address. Writing down the street names, it was easy to find their house. Amy asked if we'd had breakfast yet. "I had a Snickers bar," I answered. That response always brought out the mother in just about everyone. We had croissants, homemade cherry strawberry-rum jam, peanut butter, chocolate flakes cereal and muffins. Then we went for a long walk down the street and past the duck pond. Amy said, "One day some ducks walked from the pond to my little pool and splashed around all day in it. One mother liked the arrangement so much she laid a clutch of eggs under my kitchen window. When the eggs finally hatched the mother duck was so possessive it would hiss whenever I got too close to water my flowers. One fine day the mother waddled off, her troop in tow, down the street. The mother had figured it was time to introduce her little ones to the big pond. I followed them. From the edge there was a foot drop into the pond. The little ones all walked up and splashed in happily -- except for one hesitant little fellow. He stood looking at the big drop-off peeping anxiously." "Did his mother push him in," I wanted to know. "No," Amy answered. "She was a good mother. She just waited and he eventually worked up enough nerve and splashed in on his own." Our walk continued thorough the woods and fields along the walking path, crossing recreational bike paths and sandy horse trails. I thought because the Netherlands was such a compact country the citizens made an effort to preserve whatever land they have left and used it for their outdoor enjoyment. They liked to get out into nature and appreciated what areas remained. Bob and Amy's son, Frithjof, came over for supper with his friend and ex-university roommate, Yusef. Yusef's parents were Hungarian and Yusef worked in the family's Amsterdam antique business. Both entertained us with their quick wit and sense of humour. For supper we started with a plate of raw herring and onions. Frithjof explained it was a traditional dish in the Netherlands. The first mouthful tasted gruesome -- way too fishy for me. Then I put on tons of onions and stuffed the herring in with a generous forkful of potato salad. Hmmm. Not bad. We used a fork and knife to eat ours, but the real Dutchmen at dockside covered the herring with onions, held it by the tail and scarfed it down. One was just an opener for them. I didn't want seconds. "Would you like another?" Bob asked. "Oh no. Thank you for asking. One filled me up." What did one say to someone who fed you raw fish? "Wow! You're a great cook!"? Main course was cheese fondue and dipped bread chunks. The secret ingredient was rum. We kidded them that the fondue must have been a Dutch invention. One steak could feed six people. It started to rain torrentially. A very good night to be inside. We could hardly hear it except for the odd crack of thunder. After supper we retired to the living room to continue our acquaintance. Frithjof had gone to university in Amsterdam studying medicine. He had quit and switched into the Business program. He quit that and went into German languages. His latest plan was to go to Germany to continue his studies there with his German girlfriend. Frithjof was fluent in six languages. "But," he said, "I've still been places where people didn't understand any of them." Frithjof and Yusef departed around midnight. Sharon and I were shown to the attic room with its two single beds. In the adjoining room there was a washer and dryer. Cyclists seemed especially attuned to observing washing machines. The attic also held Amy's art supplies. She did fantastic watercolour paintings of flowers. "But," she said, "no matter how well or how many times I paint flowers they will never equal the perfection of nature." Amy had recently started working with oil. "That taught me patience," she said. Her paintings were hung throughout the house. We saw she was talented and learned she gave lessons and had an exposition in a gallery. As Sharon and I slept in the art room amongst her paintings and books we hoped some of her talent would brush off on us. |
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