PhotocatsEyes

Bikes in all colors and sizes, it must be Belgium

Back to Belgium, I went in the beginning of December, and it’s good to be in the motherland again, but only because I know I don’t have to stay.
If it were not for siblings and my children, and some dear friends, I doubt it that I would want to go back. Nothing is keeping me attached anymore, it does not feel like my country any longer. Things have changed, a lot, hard to imagine that I have been away for only seven years.
I am amazed at the pace that the changes go... I used to drive a lot, knew some of Belgium’s big cities, found my way around. After seven years, I do need my satnav to get around.
I am in Gent for the occasion, meeting up with a friend who used to work for the newspaper with me. A fellow Nikonian, photography connects us.
He lives behind the station in Gent, and I want to go out and shoot some, as the station is a place with many people and lots of different situations.

Gent is also a university city, it means that there are bikes in abundance. Bikes before you, behind you, on the sides, wherever you look, you find them, it is the main transport tool for students.
Not like in the States, where a big part of students go to college or university in cars. It means that all around the station, every single tree or pole has bikes clustered around, I wonder how on God’s earth students find their bike back.

And huge building works are taking place. I remember a tall building on my left, now it is a big pit, with a couple of giant cranes in it, I don’t know what they are building. The station could probably do with a bit of new buildings.

No recession for the Gent city council, they seem to have money to take on projects that spread over years to come.
The station is the end stop for busses and trams, who depart of the stands on the square, the trains leave on the other side of Gent St. Pieters as the busy traffic hub is called.

And funny, from Gent St. Pieters you can take the tram to Moscou. Never noticed that before, when I still lived in Belgium.
I like the trams, like riding them and seeing them amongst normal traffic. The trams have a right of way over cars and busses, and as a pedestrian, you do want to keep an eye on them. A meeting between a tram and the said pedestrian mostly ends badly.

I told my friend that I wanted to snap some bikes, so we walked around the Square a couple of times. The trees form a shady walking path in summer, when the leaves overspan the foot path, it’s winter now, so the branches are naked.

The bike mission is in full swing. I try to find some special ones, to make them stand out, but it is just a hopeless mess with bikes thrown against everything that can hold a bike.

In order to try out some new angles, I go down, forgetting that I have a fellow photographer with me, I end up with my gentle curves (hmmm, lets say fat) in the picture.

And that is what I was shooting. Back home behind my computer, I feel that I missed a chance, as the red bike in the foreground has a nice cover for the chain. Could have done something with it. Next time better luck...

City council and police are trying hard to get the bikes in the correct stalling spots, they have no luck either. The sign says that parked bikes here will be removed, the students go ahead anyway. I think that a couple of times a year they do a big clean out, bikes get taken into custody, but students are weasels, soon enough they get other bikes and the game starts over again.

Another game is to paint your bike in such a color that you can pick it out easily. Makes for pretty colorful bikes, a thief would probably think twice before taking the lime green one for a ride.
They get stolen or “loaned” all the time. If you don’t find your bike, you “borrow” another person’s bike, who then in his turn will “borrow” a bike to get home. That is why students use old and shabby bikes, you never know when it will be the last time you will see your transportation machine again.

It would not be Belgium if we would not find a “frietkot”. A van where you can get fries and snacks, one of the things I miss about Belgium.
I don’t like the English fish and chips places, nothing is to compare with good old fashioned belgian fries. I believe that students live of yoghourt and fries, it’s cheap, and that is what matters for the kids.
We walk on, and I find a post box that has been treated.

Artistic for sure, the horn makes for the O in POST. Count on students to brighten a place up. Or do things out of the ordinary.
We walk back to the station and see a group of students playing cards.

I go up to them to have a chat. Why are they doing this? Is it a new student habit to sit and play cards in front of a Belgian station?
Nope, it’s a project to show people that Christmas and Newyears festivities can be fun and techno strange. Good times are to be had with a couple of friends or family members without splurging out with money. Just grab a pack of cards and play some.

Here too I am taken by surprise, I am in fact not much fun to go out shooting with, as I wander off and back to snap things I like.
Mr Wonderful knows this all to well. He gives me the freedom and keeps an eye on me, as I loose track of time and place when I am in shooting mode.

They must be freezing as the weather is not very nice. But they are young and carefree... not minding a bit of cold.
I give them my card and tell them to claim the photographs, which they did. Hi carting students! I hope you reached a lot of people with your message. A good message... Games are the way to go.
Time for some goofy portraits. Who will snap who? We will both do it at the same time. Grin...

My shooting buddy for the day has better idea’s then this one, he often sees and snaps things that I don’t even notice. Well done, Mr balloonguy.
(Notice the B on the pics he took? It’s the B for Balloonguy).

Romance is never far away, the centuries old trick of carving names in trees is still alive and kicking. I wonder who they were, Andreas and Sten????
Encrypted messages: only the writers know what it means and for whom it’s for.

Signs all over the place with warnings about stray parking bikes, with a bad result. The messages don’t work, some serious measures will be needed to curb the biking student population...
Another new thing, you can now SMS for a ticket for a tram ride or bus...

I am starting to feel like Rabbi Teveyeh in Fiddler on the roof. Screaming out for tradition... What happened with the ticket vendor in the Station itself?
We certainly live in a phone civilisation. Where communication is with us at all times.
One thing has not changed though: people still kiss and hug before leaving each other, and now there is a special place to go and do it:

Voila, very Belgian n’est ce pas????

And this is the last entry for 2008. Can’t believe that the year flew by so fast... A good new year for everyone, and thank you readers for keeping me motivated to blog!
Talk to you all next year...

The Ginger Bread Man is in town...

The first ginger cookie bake session in my life. Belgians don’t have a real habit of baking cookies. Not like the americans. The americans have made it into an art. They have the tools, the mixes, the cutters...
My friend Deb had planned a cookie bake two weeks ago. And invited me. So I promised her the story line in pictures.

The image that stays burned on my mind is the above one. The hands. A kid’s hands and a grown-ups hands. Working together.
I snapped it and got zoomed back to my childhood. We had a working mom, and never experienced togetherness like I watched happen on this baking afternoon.
I do not recall ever having done anything similar with my mom. If we did, I have no recollection of it. There is a glow around my heart as I watch it all.
All children should have moments like these. Doing fun stuff with mom, where appreciation can be shared, and where you know as a kid that you are important. I never got anything else then that i was a pain in the you know what. And I always had the feeling that my mom wanted me out of the house.
Camps here, camps there, youth groups (which me and my siblings all hated), everything that got us out of the house was fine. I spend a couple of years in boarding school, which I hated too. Under the spells of wicked nuns...
But I digress, we are talking ginger cookies... In a lovely kitchen, with friends, life is good.

They had been going already before I entered, so I smelled flower, cookies baking, we had a zillion cups of tea, a lovely afternoon

It started off with gingerbread mix. You name it and the Americans have a mix for it. I have made a holy vow for next year in the Christmas period.
I will bake too. Don’t laugh, I saw the experts at work, and I do feel that I can give it a try.

My cutter collection is not as big as the one Debbie has, but hey, I have some. It looks easy enough...
You make the dough, take a ball of it, roll it flat out on the table, cut the shapes, carefully put them on a baking sheet, and in the oven.
Klaar is Kees.

The kitchen is a mess of course, but it’s not really a mess. It’s having fun and chatter on and on. The children are in another part of the house, playing games. No television in the house, this family knows how to have quality time.

Having the tools of the trade helps of course. Special little spatels, a tiny roller, a good working area...

When a full sheet is ready, it goes in the oven, Debbie is jumping up and down, it is a production line I tell you.
One is rolling, the other one is cutting, the third one is baking, the fourth one is snapping it all.

It is delicate to get the cut out pieces from the working spot to a cookie sheet, as the dough has to be rolled out pretty flat. And the dough is brittle, it’s a work of love and patience. I am sure the result will be smashing.

The cookies come out of the oven nicely golden brown. We all have a laugh as I tell Debbie that her bootie is really cute when she is putting cookies in... Life does not get much better then this.
After most of the baking is done we call on the kids, time for them to learn how to do it.

I love it. I wished we had learned how to cook and bake, and it would have been good if we could have learned it the way Deb’s kid learn it.
Doing it together, small corrections applied when needed, but all in this atmosphere of laughter and being with good friends.

Ok mom, how do I put the cutters in the dough? There is a right way and a wrong one, can’t show that one to you, as I did not take a good close up from the cutters. They have a sharp edge and a rounded one, obviously the sharp edge goes down in the dough.

The little spatulas are the max. Very good to scoop up the vulnerable cookies.

More cutters come out of a secret drawer. Angels and little men. Now I see where it is all going. I have seen the ginger bread men before.

And as is fashionable in baking circles, you only are a real baker if a stranger at the door sees that you are baking when you open the door.
Yes, we clearly see that we are baking today...

More and more cookies come out of the oven, crisp and golden, we are ready for the icing.

We have several different shapes. Hearts, men, angels, stars. And some weird looking forms that I can not place.
It will be solved though. We are baking 3 D today...

Two half christmas trees become a full tree once assembled. Magic...

Debbie shows them how to make a little cream horn, so they can spout the icing on the pieces. A small zip loc bag is used. One little corner is cut off on the bottom, and the girls have a makebelieve icing bag.

The girls love that part. Different colours of sprinkles are available, green, red, the colors of Christmas.

The christmas trees get small jelly beans for ornaments, gosh, I love this. We have christmas carols in the background, a peaceful afternoon.
Creativity at its best.

Time for the reindeers. Body and legs are bakes separately, one pair of legs gets broken, no worries, we had some baked extra, counting in possible losses. The losses are eaten immediately. The girls are happy.

Santa his sledge is ready, wonderful... What great memories those kids will have of their childhood. Moments of togetherness to last...
I am catching up on childhood memories too, it’s never too late to feel like a kid again...

Thanks Deb, Eden, Bethany, Rose Marie, Sophie and Christine for sharing the afternoon with me...

Tomorrow the next installment of my Belgian Trip...

Boxing day Hunters gather...

And I was there. My friend did let me know that the hunters were going to take of for their Boxing Day Hunt, from Boroughbridge, so I mingled in with the crowd to take it all in.
One thing I had to do was shut up. You can not declare amidst a group of hunters that you feel for the poor fox. Brits are such animal loving people, but when it comes to foxes, they go stray... They hate foxes with a passion.

They hunt up the poor animal for hours, till it is totally exhausted, and then the pack of dogs tears it to shreds.

Strange, as the dogs are the friendliest creatures I have met when you meet them outside of the hunt.

All I had to do was follow the crowds going to one place, the market square in Boroughbridge, where I could dive in between the horses, and pet them.

It has to be said: gorgeous animals, horses with a certain class. The riders were not too bad either, it was a mix of black and red riding outfit, a lot of the watching crowd had the o so well known british tweed feel.

It’s like a reversed uniform... Tweed makes sure that onlookers know that this is a well off person. It looks shabby, but insiders know that these clothes cost fortunes, and it is politically correct to wear them till they fall apart from your body. Tweedeliedoom...

The same goes for the booties. Some of the black and brown foot gear looks shabby square four, but again we know that they too cost a fortune.
Hunting is not for the poor... It has always been an unfair world. Money talks, and on this occasion, it shreeked.

I tried to enjoy myself though, loved to feel the warm noses of the horses, their friendly eyes peering into mine, easy to see why a horse can be a man’s best friend. They listen to what you say and only lack speech to become human.

It is clear that all the hunters know each other, cheers and hello’s are going from horse to horse, the hats firmly on the heads, ready for the big go.
They were supposed to be off at eleven, but the market has so many people watching that the take off is postponed for an hour. They finally leave at 11.45 instead of the planned 11 AM.

I see a couple of brilliant grey spotted horses, with fierce heads, proud and muscled, wonderful animals. They are curious when you approach them, and push their noses against my shoulder. Friendly hello’s from a horse to me. I have never been on a horse in my life, but I could get used to it.
It must be a very special feel to sit on a noble creature like a horse, and see the world from a higher viewpoint.

One of the gentlemen has a different kind of hat, I am sure that it means something. Maybe the Hunt Master? We chat for a short while and he hears my Belgian accent. Dang it, I will never get rid of that one. At least they don’t think I am canadian anymore.

Maybe with so many things going into recession, the special outfits looking extremely pricy will vanish sooner or later.
I am offered some tea and pork pie, but kindly refuse. I need both hands to pet horses and hold my camera. No time for food or drinks.

I had no idea that the hunters were provided with food and drinks before the hunt starts.
the pork pies smell delicious, but I can resist.

Lovely characters around, at times, drivers look like their horse. Same characteristic face, with dark eyes and a wide smile.

I’m not too happy to see a couple of horses with foam on their mouth. It means that their head gear is not comfortable, they get this piece of metal in their mouth, and if it does not fit properly, it feels very uncomfortably for the horse, and they start foaming.
All of a sudden, a shudder of exitement goes through the crowd. The dogs have arrived. That is what everyone is waiting for. No hunt without dogs.

Big dogs, amazingly friendly. Vivid dog faces, alert to what is going on around them, a huge pack of brown and black spotted beasts.

Extremely curious, some of the kids present go nose to nose with the dogs. They easily reach the eye heights of a 3 year old.
They seem to love to feel the kids hands on their head or fur.

A heart warming sight. I tell one little boy that the color of his hair is the same as that of the dog he is petting, and he is very happy with that knowledge.
The dog can’t be bothered, he enjoys the soft touches of the kid.

Not only kids enjoy the dogs, young and old, nobody can resist the call from yet another doggie to be petted.

On the far end of the market place, a lady dropped a platter with pork pies, and yup, all the dogs go up there to have a snack, and after this little intermezzo, keep checking the people to see if more platters will be dropped. Too funny...

I am going down on the floor, to shoot up towards a horse and its driver, trying to frame a good shot, when I feel a warm soft breath in my ear, and some nibbling... Hah, yes, indeed one of the dogs sniffing me out and liking my ears.

Should you wonder, this is not a handicapped horse, it has indeed two ears. It just flicked one back when I pressed the shutter. A one eared horse is the result...

As the dog is nibbling my ear, the horse too comes down on me, and sniffs my camera. Love it!

The horses have little knots on the heads, no loose hair, they have been nicely coombed. Dressed to impress!

In the distance, I discover my friend Madeline and her husband Derry in the crowd. I wave... She was the one to let me know about this event.

A horn is blowing, and all the dogs are suddenly quiet and alert. The hunt will officially begin. The Hunt master thanks everyone for being present and supporting the hunt. Aheum, I am undercover, I don’t support hunting, not with 50 dogs against one fox. But I am in no mood for conflicts, so I keep my waffle shut. Not an easy task...

The sign has been given, and the hunters bundle up and leave the market square. An impressive view I must say, just for the wrong reason.
Hunting foxes has been banned, but it is really a joke, as hunting goes on, open and free, police is nowhere to be seen, it’s a one-zero for the hunting lobby. Again: money talks. I am hoping that today no fox will be found, I will keep my fingers crossed.

Doggies too leave the market square, and soon it is silent, no more barking and no more talking horses.
I will try to come back next year, and hope that by then they have found a replacement victim, so they can take the dogs and horses out without having to kill a fox...

One can dream...

Santa Day is here!

A bit sad that it does not last a week... or fourteen days. I like Christmas. It’s a quiet day, no traffic on the road in front of our house. People are in general happy. Peaceful. Went into town yesterday to get some last minute things, needed a hat too, but they were all sold out. The guy in the store gave me his. Which was pretty neat...

I needed the hat for Amy, so she could all tell you to have a good Christmas. She could not be bothered too much. That is our kitty allright.
It felt like a day with expectations yesterday, not for something in particular, just exiting. Something nice was coming, I could feel it.
And Beanstalk got off the boat OK, and was driving up, all the way from Dover to Ripon. A five hour drive. But he is young, so it does not matter.
We started yesterday morning with a beautiful sunrise once again.

We have a lot of those lately. And since the sun is getting up later, there is more chance that I will be up, and see her climb the sky for her dayjob.
You can see her coming on the right, an orange bit in between the trees, throwing a lovely orange shine on the skies above. Never get enough from it.

If I would have been a rambler, this is how the house looks from outside in, a small tree in the corner, and lights to clear it all up.

I think it is the lights that I like most about Christmas... Or maybe the cards that come to our home from all over the world.

Our cupboard is limited, if we have more coming I will need another space to put them. And there are presents too of course. Also from people spread over the world. Marrying an american does that: you get parcels from the States on occasion. Always nice to get a box from the other side.

Should you wonder what the big box is with the green bow, I do not have a clue. Debbie gave it to me, a total suprise, so I will open it today and see what is in it.
On tuesday, we had coffee in Betty’s with the girls from school, and there too some unexpected presents.

Santa’s big and small, thanks girls... I like chocolate, so they will find their way. I might leave them up for a while though as they look so cute on the table, keeping the angle company.

My friend Sandra and her grand daughter Jessica gave me those two beautiful cushions. Hand and home made, I choked up completely when I saw them... Sandra is a gifted sewing machine handler, this is proof. She knows I love cows and sheep, and implemented both in the design.
Thanks Sandra and Jessica...
And more pressies to come later on the day... Wowsie.

Had to go to Ripley on monday, for my car MOT, and noticed the small store in Christmas dress too. It really is the lights that pull me in everywhere.
I’m a sucker for lights...

And the embellishments on the doors... A couple of very nice ones in Ripley. With some tasteful trees in front of windows.

And yesterday evening, I took a dash into town again to snap some more lights...
The trend in UK is becoming to do the outside of the house too. I think we should limit those. It’s good to have a tree in the house, with lights. But lights on the outside seem like a waste of resources to me. If we need to think green, elaborate outdoor displays are not the way to go.
The one I went to photograph yesterday is raising money for the Ambulance in Ripon, so I donated some and then took some shots.

A santa had an encounter with Pete the Sweep, his face blackened by soot, next to the normal looking Santa. Fat, smiling and a white beard.

It must be painstakingly difficult to set up a display like this. The full game, santa’s, deer, moose, reindeers, snowmen, the whole club was present.

On this merry note we will now have breakfast. I made my deadly crescents for a fitting christmas breakfast. We’ll go to confession later, who wants to know how much sugar is in it anyway...

Have a good Christmas all and enjoy the peace of the day...

‘T Was the day before Christmas...

And am I thinking Christmassy thoughts? Nope...
Why???
I will tell you...
It’s all the fault of those darn, evil, useless, rotten WET WIPES!!!

It’s really a miracle that I did not kill my 3 children after birth, and that they live to today happily and merry...
More merry I dare say then my thinking process. I am trying to get to grips with something that is bigger then me... In a way!

Wet wipes... Who invented them? Can you please take them out of the world again?

What was wrong with a little washcloth to wipe babies bum? You tossed it in the laundry basket, washed it at 90 degrees, so all the germs were killed, and used it over and over again...

Not now. Now they have wet wipes. And they managed to fill the young mother’s heads now with a lot of garbage, even if it is called wet wipes...

Instead of thinking Santa,

Instead of thinking nice warm fires...

Instead of thinking little orchestra playing Christmas music on the platform of Bolton Abbey Station...

Instead of thinking head of Station talking to Santa...

And last but not least instead of thinking about happy children’s faces...

I am SO thinking wet wipes. Got it? DARN WET WIPES... AND THE FEAR OF GERMS... AND MOMS GO CRAZY...

Now let me explain, now that you all know that I am talking wet wipes here, and not exactly the brand pictured above, nope, I am talking all wet wipes, from any given brand...

I have (or had I should say) this very good and dear friend. For two years, so you would think you know each other. I met her when she was walking her little beautiful daughter on base. We became good friends, and I love the little girl from the bottom of my heart.
A couple of weeks ago though, the little girl became a big sister, as a new baby was born into the happy family.

And that is where it all started. I knew my friend was a very very very very good housewife. Every time I came from her house I felt inspired to start cleaning my dump at home, as I do not have the house hold gene...

They had booked me as a photographer when the little girl was small, and I promised them a shoot of their little son as birth gift.
I thought that this was a pretty neat gift... Why am I so utterly stupid at times???

Anyway, we were together at a big party, and the baby was there. Too small to go far from mom, and needing breast feeding, so it was just easier to bring it with them, to the party.

At a certain point, I am looking at mom and baby, he is happy now, well fed and sleepy, and my friend is lovingly holding him. I look at the two of them and suddenly have this urge to kiss the baby on the cheek. It’s what babies do to me... They are so utterly adorable that you want to hold them, cuddle them, kiss them, you know how it goes.

Except for this time, this young mom snapped at me and shouted “You can’t kiss it in the face”, as 20 people around us are watching...
Dear lord, let de floor go open now and let me sink into the hole and vanish from this earth...

She could asswell have thumped a dagger straight into my heart...

For god sakes, I kissed the baby on the cheek. Let me remind you that these are very dear friends, I went to their home on lots of occasions, the kids knew me. I would not dream of kissing a strange baby on the cheek on the street or in any mall or so... I am not really a baby kisser. Just this once, the small one was so adorable, and I had this strange chemical reaction that made me put a little kiss on its cheek.

My evening was ruined, I was shooting the whole party event, but after this, I just ran out and went home. Totally upset.

I could have understood her reaction of the mom if I had been a stranger, or if I would have had Ebola, or the bubonic plague, or a simple cold...
None of that, I am a normal, more or less healthy pre-geriatric person with a deep and fond love of babies and kids.

Since when can’t you kiss a baby anymore for fear of germs? With all the wet wipes and the germ free movement going on, do we need a face mask now before we kiss a baby? Better, do we need a wet wipe facemask before we kiss a baby?

It is now two months ago, but I am still brooding about it. I felt like if I had a bad nasty disease after the mom shouted at me. I felt dirty and rotten, I felt like I had committed a crime... before I left, I went up to mom to appologize, as she was after all a good friend, and I had probably given them fifty kiddie shoots for free already, as my camera was always on standby when I went to their house.
On that same occasion, the mom introduces me to another girl, telling me that she just booked the girl for a familyshoot.

Oops, this was not a dagger, it was a Sword of honour... Deep into my heart... I am a lousy dirty bug ridden lady, going round kissing wet wiped babies and making them sick... and I am also a lousy photographer as even one my dearest friends tell me they will book another photographer to do babies first shoot... Hec, it is not because I am a photographer that they can’t book other photographers for family pics, but I don’t need to be present when they book the other photographer.

I went home, and straight into bed, cave time, licking my wounds...

And it is all coming from the wet wipe movement... Moms put babies in a plastic bubble, wet wipes go everywhere, and the more germs they fight, the more frantic they become. I have to agree, it is very handy to have wet and nice smelling wet wipes with us in cars and purses. Kids do get sticky, and it is convenient that we can now wipe them germ free in a second.

But if wet wipes replace loving a child and putting clean as a stigma on cuddling people, we are going the wrong way.
It’s a true miracle that I did not kill my babies, as they ate sand, they sat on messy floors, they played in mud, and I was silly and dumb enough to think that their nightly bad routine was enough to get them spunky clean before going to bed...

It took me a bit over a month to face my friend and tell her that her words on that party evening hurt me terribly, that her words offended me deeply and that I had been upset about it for over a month now. I told her that I will no longer go to her house as I am not sure anymore that I will sit on the right place or do the right things to not possibly make her kids sick with only my presence. I do not want to live like that... Being afraid that someone will snap at me because I love the kids... She assures me that I am always welcome at her house, but I can see and feel the hostility coming like icy mini daggers towards me. This will never work again, I have crossed a line that I did not know I was crossing, this time, the wet wipes won.

I retreat and promise myself never to get emotionally attached to a baby again... Yeah, right, but hey, it is worth a try, as nothing is worth the hurt and pain I feel when someone that I considered a friend is trampling with army boots on my tiny heart...

I do promise you all a real Christmas blog entry tomorrow, with good things, and cinnamon, and candy, and icing on cake, as it is after all Christmas, and we need to be in peace with ourselves on that day... My son is arriving tonight, and I do have another day of frantic cleaning to do, with my wet wipes, so the house is spic and span when we comes...

Talk to you all on Christmas day!!!

A sunrise...

Not like any other. This morning when I entered the kitchen, I saw a little bit of orange sun behind the trees. Nothing special one would think. But I started wondering, it slowly, slowly rose. I only had to watch it. The sun went up all by herself. I did not have to tell her to shift a little to the right, no, no, too far, a bit more to the left... A bit higher, no, nooo, lower, yep, very good, now a bit more to the right...
The old girl knew exactly what and how and where. Soon enough her orange glow dissappeared to make room for the normal white sunlight.
A small miracle, free for all to see, provided that there are no clouds. I was happy already before I had my morning coffee. Truly the good life. Not having to rush to get to work, nope, I only had to be in time in the garage with my car. And this afternoon I have a shoot, the monday will be gone before it good and well started.

I have some more Belgium pics to share. From sunday... When my sister and I went to Holland. Heesh. A nice scrapbook store, where we can perform some powershopping. They have the newest of papers, the newest books, always a pleasure to walk around and sniff the smell of paper and trinkets.

We left pretty early, the frost still upon the trees and landscapes, it was snappish cold. A beautiful sight. The flat country with the high trees.
It has its charms, its own special atmosphere. My breath makes clouds, it’s that cold.

The meadow is green and cold. Some leftovers from summer, the brown feathery plumes of the reeds firm and still. No wind at all.

Frost skies are krisp and bring fresh air. Bugs are not to be seen, a good frosty winter brings a marvellous new spring.
The farm is still sleeping. No movement detected, people are snuggled up inside, close to whatever heating source they have.

I bet that this meadow has a lot of salamanders in summer. They like the lush green and soggy grounds close to creeks and becks, they need water, so they can perform their little ballets. We are on a mission though, can’t loose too much time, we have to get to Holland.
Not before a pittstop at a friends house. On the way there we find a stork with a newborn, or so it seems. I hear from my friend that twins have been born in that home, how cute to tell the world this way.

They did in fact have two storks, appropriate for twins. What a fun and creative idea. Even if we nowadays don’t believe it anymore that kids come out of cabbages or delivered by a stork.
We have a good cup of coffee at my friend’s house, long life friends, a back door friend... They got a new dog out of a shelter, and I can admire the animal.
Gorgeous brown greyish dog, a weimaraner. The beast is called Erko. And is a total nut case.

Very human friendly dogs, they want attention and company. It is love at first sight from my side, but then, it is a pretty huge animal, so it needs space.

He gets in a running frenzy, and even with my super fast camera and panning I have a hard time getting him on film. Too soon we have to get on our way again, Heesh is coming closer. We know the typical houses around the store, and they have some good old knotted willows.

The house next to the scrap store has a tatched roof, not that common in that part of the world. I like it... It has a special feel.

And what is strange is that the willows are sprouting. They are wrong. It’s the middle of winter, they should not be sprouting. What will they do in spring?
Nature is off...
Sis and I shop to our hearts desire and are back on the road home before it gets too dark.
Another nice day in Belgium. More tomorrow....

A castle, a man and a dog...

Yes, in Belgium still. We do have a few castles, not in the range of the British ones, and they are not visited like their counterparts in the UK.
Here people take their time to visit a castle almost every fourteen days. There is plenty of them around, one older then the other, never a dull moment.
You could live in England your whole life, and visit a castle every sunday, and you still would not have seen them all...
But I was talking Belgium.
I was on my way to visit a life long friend who has been diagnosed with Huntington’s Disease.
We went to Boarding school together in the beginning of the 70’s, she was 3 doors down the hall from me in our dormitory. We visited each other via the guthers... Our rooms were at the fourth floor, and we could reach each via guthers on the outside of the building. Lets not talk health and safety here...
Her mom died of Huntingtons at the age of 65, so my friend knows all to well what is going on, we can only hope that a cure is found in time.
Makes all our little problems seem very small, when you are confronted with stuff like this. I have no idea how I will find her, how much of the symptoms she has already, staying positive is certainly a way to go. On my way there, I do stop off in Wijnendale, where the above mentioned castle is situated.

It’s a blanket against worrying. Photographing beauty helps keeping bad thoughts away. It’s a grey-ish day, yet I do manage to get some puff clouded shots.

Belgium too had its parts of wet, and the flemish country side in Flanders is under water too. Little walking roads around the castle are mirrors for nature.
Wonderful sight. And lucky as I am, I see a man and his dog coming closer. A beautiful collie, or Lassie as we call them in Belgium. All collies are lassies for that one Hollywood dog with the same name.

We talk for a short while, he tells me about the wife who will wash the dog when he gets home. I can see why. Doggie is not afraid of mud and water and his fur needs a brushing... He could take an example from the snowy white geese on the moat around the castle.

No mud on those! Man and dog are on their way to the small castle chapel. He will meet up with a pensioner friend, to discuss life’s matters.

It’s a small chapel, centuries old, used to be painted in full white, now they adorned it a little with ox red additions. The gentlemen don’t mind me snooping around, it is in fact impossible for me to snap the chapel without folks, as the doggie man stands fiercely in front of “his” chapel.
Funny...

Something in his head must tell him that I need a posed human in front of the chapel. Hmmm, maybe I do... Grin...
I decide to walk around a little, and end up at the closed front gate of Wijnendale.

I do not know if we ever went inside of it. You can visit it in the summer months, and I know we used to come to a place close by on field trips with school as kids, no recollection of any memory of Wijnendale.
We are back at the battle of the Golden Spurs, as Robert I, Count of Flanders, at the end of the 11th century built it as a base for military operations.
From there on and in several swaps between counts, different counts owned the place, either by marriage or by heritance. In 1302, it played a role in the rise of Flanders against the French King and was besieged for a while. In 1297, Guy of Dampierre, a person all Belgian kids know from their history books but mostly forget why by the time they are 52, signed a treaty here with the English King Edward I.

I might visit the now closed place in May, when I come back. We have a patrimonium, and should know more about it. The Castle is only open to visitors in summer. Too bad. I drive on to my friend’s house, and pass some other Flemish country side sights. One of them “The Angel”. Not an angel, but a known house at a crossing, known as the Angel.

Dating from 1766, and situated in the centre of Ichtegem. A lot of the roads from the centre of Belgium to the coast come by this building.
It is now a restaurant, it used to be a toll house-tavern and is a listed building since 1983.
Many old toll house or tavern are now getting listed, wished they had done it sooner. Some vanished treasures could have been saved from the build new stuff disease.

Another tavern this time in Gistel, with the name of the Patroness Saint Godelieve on the front. It looks to be in decay, I wonder if they will tear it down too.

It has the year 1654 on the side gable, and is built typically for what was a regular sight in Belgium, A central door, with an equal part of windows on the side. The cut out holes in the black part on the bottom were often windows to the cellars, used to stock coal, or in the case of a tavern, crates of beer, fed into the holes on a slide board to be stacked in appropriate places.

It looks as if Tavern Godelieve needs a fix... And sure enough, a quick look on the internet learns that the now listed building will get fixed as they plan new social living quarters behind it.

Let’s hope for the best with this project...

I finally arrive at my friend’s house, and we talk and talk... What is there to say really? Life and a possible leaving life too soon are tough subjects.
I feel inadequate, I wished a had a magic wand to end all the misery in the world. Present and future.
If all the money that is spent on weapons would be put in medical research, the world might indeed be a better place...

For now, I wish you all a pair of soft angel wings so you can go places and talk talks needing to be talked about...

The spirit of Christmas????

Light! It’s all about lights. Christmas could be the fest of the light... Depending on who and what you are. If your name is Tommy, and you are a cat living at my sisters house, you are living like God in France, extremely well. FatCat would be the suitable name for Tommy.

Besides living things, there are also some other animals in the house, and on a lazy day, I snap them...

Cow, with kitties in the basket, love this one...

Cow trying to escape as she does not want to be photographed on an early monday morning...

Fatcat again, wondering if I will keep on pestering him...
Besides animals, there are also some little trinkets around that I like to snap...

A collection of stone cookies, don’t break your teeth on them...

Two small snow men who are coming to England with me...
And frozen holly outside... That I snap when checking out my car. My sister’s neighbour has droven into it on sunday evening, but it was to dark to see the damage done. This morning, with frost an all plants and trees around, I see that it might need a new door.
I don’t know what is wrong with my PT, but people seem to LOVE to bump into it. After checking it out in the garage it turns out that it will be around 900 pound Sterling to fix it. Mr Wonderful will not be a happy man on my return home...

But I was talking nice things, so forget about PT for a couple of more days... Lucky, in the true spirit of Christmas, the people who did bump into it came and told us, so this time we might be assured not to have to pay ourselves...
My sister, niece et moi decide to go and have a peek in Slots, a store just over the county line of French Belgium, where they always have nice things in for Christmas on beautiful displays.

Angels... hec, this one has bow and arrows, must be Cupid...

Chandeliers... In all sizes and prizes.

For a strange reason, I love chandeliers. But hate to clean them. I used to have one, but forgot what happened to it. I know that I don’t have it here with me in UK anymore. Maybe I gave it away. Silly me... I want it back...

Sneek in some shots of siblings and nieces... The utterly flamboyant grey-ish thing in the background hidden behind camera is me.
I discover some really cute puppets... Not for the faint of heart, nudity warning in advance...

I wonder if they are sold together or separate... Too cute!

In the same line, a head... I am having a ball looking and browsing around through the store, and making sure that no store employee sees me as they don’t like photographers... Don’t know why... If I would see a photo of what they have, I would be wanting to go there and buy some... Maybe I am a too simple soul for this brutal world.

Some strings with christmas lights in different colors...
And to end our visit to Slots, a pancake or waffle with chocolate. I had to at least mention chocolate one time today. To stay in the line of my last days postings.

And then back to the start of this entry, where I talk about animals living like God in France... Not for the ones I found this afternoon.
They broke my heart.
It has been wet here in UK, extremely wet... Water wet... Drowning wet. If you get my drift. And the sheep have to live in it.

I am disgusted by the conditions they are in... These are normally white sheep. Not black ones. Nope, white...

I know that some farmers make them live of roots, and that it is good food for the sheep. But I can not see the advantage of having sheep standing in mud the whole day, sleeping on mud at night, even if they get extra food.

I am not saying that nobody is looking after them, as they have hay in the pens, so obviously someone is feeding them extra.
But I find it gutwrenching to see the animals dirty and muddy, with no dry place to stand.

The quality of the pics is bad, I took them with my phone, see, if I dare leave the house without camera, I miss it.
I drove around to find a possible farmer, to no avail...
I wonder if being a sheep means that you have to put up with stuff like that...

I say that sheep too have the right to be in a dry stable in winter time... Maybe I need to call animal well fare... or maybe there is a farmer amongst my readers who can assure me that those animals are OK, with woolite underway and wellies to go...
Bring it on... I wished all animals would be able to live like God in France!

Siblings and chocs...

Family, a thing close to our heart. While in Belgium, I try to get as much people in as I can on my busy roster. At times, I need a bit of help, as in nieces and boyfriends coming to me instead. I stayed at my sisters house, and my niece Julie comes in with her boyfriend. A first. First time I see the boyfriend. Approved off and sealed. They look happy enough together, and have their whole life in front of them. Go for it youngsters, it’s all up to you now to shape the face of our planet for the coming years.

Tommy the cat has become a fat piglet, winter fur and good food do that to a cat. I wish it would be the same for humans. Winter fur and good food to keep us steady.

A nice moment, candles burning, I love it when the weather outside is bad, and inside you can snuggle up with candles and a blankie...
What can one need more? It’s all about basics.

In the morning, I take off for more family visits, the fields are in winter state too. Earth has been ploughed, waiting on spring to be sown in.
Ready for more crops. Sights like that are common if you leave Kortrijk behind. Pretty soon you will find farms, and pieces of land waiting on further work.

The small chapel stays the same, only the background changes. Something is growing on the field to the right, the farm can be seen in de distance.
Not that many of those small chapels have survived, but they did have a function in times when religion was much more alive then now. They are now little bits of past left over here and there, it takes the May month to see people standing in front to call the Holy Mary, Mother of God.

Small roads crinkle, we used to call them farmers roads. The rural areas around Kortrijk are littered with them. It is on a small road like this that I learned how to drive with my dad. Maybe not the best of practises as when I saw another car coming, I hit the break and did not move till the other one was gone. Much to the dismay of my dad... He was second in line to teach me how to drive, as my first husband, El Fiasco, had no patience at all and was yelling. And when someone yells at me while I am driving or trying to drive, I am NOT a happy camper. In fact I can state to never learn to drive with your spouse as it is only good for severe marital problems...

I land at the house of my brother, and get to see my godchild Judith. Growing bigger and taller. I only see her twice a year, and every time she has grown like weed. After that one time I snapped her when she was pouting, she makes it her plight to look happy when I am around with my camera.
She is going on 8 now, how time flies... She was a tiny tiny baby when I left for England...

Now she is doing the Limbo under the kitchen table. Not something I would want to try. They would need a crane to untangle me...
We are getting ready for lunch, Hilde has made a marvellous macaroni dish, and we empty it completely. No more food left by the time we leave the table. I love family dinners. We were not allowed to talk at the table when we were kids, but now it can be a pleasant time sharing experiences of the day.

And double luck as none of the kids like the crusty top of the dish, so my brother and I take care of that. Never enough of crusty top for me.
It’s the best part of oven dishes.

After lunch, we sit and talk. Catch up on stories that I missed because in England. With a good cup of coffee, life is good.
It’s also Saint Nicholas day, the 6th of december, which means that the kids got new toys and chocolate...

Yes, chocolate again... They are made in moulds in different shapes, it is a very Belgian tradition. Give me the dark choc, I am not too fond of the milk chocolate.
Also a time to snap some family pics, with the light available, we should have thought about it a bit sooner, so we could use the full daylight.

As in any normal family, there is always one to do something strange, I for instance have no idea why Jeroen is holding up his fathers leg... It must have a meaning, a hidden family secret maybe...

The more people in the group, the bigger the chance of one looking off. No difference in this family. Some more chatting and I am on my way to town, to have a glance at the displays. There is a light event, Isle of Light, and I might shoot some.

The pinguins are a bit far sought in my opinion, the only pinguins Belgium has are in the zoo. That too must have a hidden meaning that I don’t get because out of town too long already...

Some vendors have arrived already, with candies and good Belgian waffles, and donuts. The good stuff.
I find a spot to park, and can walk around for a while.

The streets have lights too, it all has a nice friendly atmosphere. I am wondering about the lack of people. At this time, the streets should be crowded. It is around six PM, and lots of the shops are open till seven in Belgium. Where have the shoppers gone? Guess they need light events to get people into town.

Not all the streets are lit with the same pattern. This is Our Ladies Street, with the library on the right, not that much shops in the street, so the street lights get all the credit.

The Lys Street, going up to the Market Square, with stores I have known my whole llife. Except they are now not the stores anymore that we knew when we were kids. New owners, new brands. Times where middle class store families knew each other are gone. They now have young people spending their days there trying to sell, paid help, not the same as the owner selling his goods.

The one above is the Rijselstraat, where our book store used to be, lived a big part of my life in this street. Here too new brands in old shops.
I do have moments that I wish we had a time machine, so we could go back a little and meet up with people of our childhood. See the city as it was 30 years ago. It is changing all so fast, every visit I bring to Belgium, the town has lost more of its old buildings.

Right now they are building a huge shopping centre in the East side of town, prestigious. Yet all the people I talk too did not want it.
Citizens were happy with Kortrijk as it was, but the mayor decided that Kortrijk has to become a design city, old known buildings are taken down, whole parts of the cities become strange to people who lived here their whole life.

At least they leave the churches alone. The Saint Martin’s Tower is lit, and gives a warm glow. This part I do like...
A bit further down the Our Ladies Church had mass and people are leaving, I quickly jump in for a few snaps here too.

The Counts Chapel next to the main nave, with portraits of people who were important in flemish history. Kings, dukes and counts. Old names.
Knights and queens. No small people like you and me, nope, only nobility got a place on the wall. Amazing that the colors are still so rich four centuries after being applied.

We do have a cultural heritage to take care off, I wonder if they take the kids in Kortrijk to see the old historic sites and tell them about what happened many centuries ago.

I end this entry with a view on the windows of the Count Chapel, beautiful glass in lead, giving a warm and inviting shine for passers by.
Dinner with the boys is next on the program. I had my share of dipping in old city history for today, on to the present.
Feeding 3 young men who can eat like no one... Talk later. We are now in the process of putting up our Christmas tree. Star Trek ornaments galore...
I will never get used to it... The toll to pay when you marry an american guy who LOVES Star Trek!!!

A good Holy Man and bad habits...

After my short visit to Bruges, I drove back to the coast to meet up with an old friend that I had not seen for over 25 years...
Where did my life go? When did I start writing about 25 years ago? High time to make the most of our life... Especially for me, in my second chance.
I arrive in Oostende, one of Belgiums most famous sea resort cities. The population triples in summer, mostly with families coming from other parts in Belgium, wanting to enjoy the beach and the sea side.

It is the home of one of Belgium’s most known ships, the Mercator. Named after the big man who put the world on maps. I am meeting up with my friend in city hall, where he works.

A light building, close to the board walk, I am pleasantly surprised with all the activities going on in this seaside town. It’s funny, we last met when in our prime years, now we both are pre-geriatric people, a bit more weight and a lot more knowledge about life. We both did the Gestalt School, learning how to counsel people. I soon found out that I could not counsel other people if my own life was in shatters. It all is such old history now...
The days of going to school are so far away, life is after all a better school then whatever you can learn in classes or teaching institutions.
I am invited to go to the school festivities, as his five year old daughter is playing and acting in it. It is Saint Nicholas day tomorrow, the sixth of December. Saint Nicholas comes on a steam boat out of Spain, and brings his little helpers, black Pete’s, and his shiny white horse.
Together they ride over the Belgian houses and drop toys and candies for the children that have been good over the past year.
We go to the school and find all the kids dressed up.

Some are small Pete’s, others have red dresses with red bows in their hair. And this is Belgium, I can snap without feeling like a crook as would happen in England. Parents are not allowed anymore in Brittain to snap school fairs and plays out of fear for phedofiles. Insane...
If it were my kid performing, I would not allow any school board to forbid me to shoot. So I am having a blast with all the kiddies that afternoon.
Snapping to my hearts desire... Enjoying being a kid amongst other kids.

Some really cute cutie pies, they have been treated with shoe polish, and old way of turning white kids in black kids, I can only imagine how much work the teachers have put in this to get them all ready.

Weeks in advance, the kids have been practising, learning how to perform, they made art works that are displayed in the gym. That is the place where all the action is taking place this afternoon.

The drawings are real art works, very creative minds at work, drawing a Saint Nickolas that fits more in the Cool region... With a cap instead of a Bishops hat... I have to laugh!

We hear a bell ring, and we all know that this is the sign that Saint Nick is close. There he comes. With his shepards staff, surrounded by Pete’s, a long white beard... Yep, Saint Nicholas allright...

I am a little surprised that Saint Nick, although arrived in Cool Times, where dudes rule, still is calling out the bad children and telling them what they did wrong. Gosh... The catholic schools still reign with a policy of name the bad things, forget the good ones as they are normal.
I feel bad for Class 5 and Class 6 who are publicly exposed for bad group behaviour. They talk too much...
For god sake Saint Nicholas, it is time to change your approach. These kids have worked their butts off for you, if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all. The treath that bad kids will be put in the black bag of the black Pete’s is old fashioned. No kid should be treated with the promise of possibly ending up in a bag and be taken to Spain.

There is no mention at all for the art works on the wall, which makes me a bit sad. I thought they had given up on the punishment side of things. Nope.

Saint Nicholas finally sits down, and waves his hand with the big (fake) red diamond. It must be an impressive sight for small kids.
They are more then ready to do their performances now, singing, dancing. That is the fun part of the day. Not Saint Nicholas doom preaching about good and bad...

I admire the bold colors in the room, what a totally fun experience, and how lucky am I to be able to see it all. My inner child is happy.
When I see happy kids, I am happy too. Simple!

Saint Nicholas tells me in between acts that the school is one of the best schools around, and that their acts are top notch.
See Good Man, I wished you had told that out loud instead of reading in your book of bad and good kids...
Teachers and kids have spent weeks preparing and working to make it all run smooth, and they did a fantastic job...

I see two black Pete’s close to me and am ready to snap their grin... Too funny!
When all the performances are ended, it is time for me to go to Kortrijk. Meet up with my sons and siblings, start my journey for a couple of Belgium days.
On the way to Kortrijk I see the most amazing sunset...

It’s rush hour, and the highway is busy, but hey, can’t let go of a sunset like this and do nothing... I pull over to the side and shoot some.
The perfect ending for a perfect day.
Lots of photographs already, I hope some will come out good. The Saint Nicholas pics will go to the school, and I do hope that teachers and parents find my appreciation for their hard work in them.
Talk more later, time to mop the kitchen floor now... My life as a domesticated housewife...

A domani, see you tomorrow! Same place, same time, same blog...