"Happy Mother's Day"

I was surprised and flattered that both my in-laws called us to wish us a happy mother's day. I guess that means that we're really in the club as far as motherhood is concerned.

In Antwerp, for some strange reason, Mother's Day is traditionally celebrated on 15 August. The Virgin Mary is Antwerp's patron saint (hence the Cathedral of Our Lady, which is rather pretty).

Since my father died in 1997, my relationship with my mother has oscillated between distant and close. In recent months, she has kept her distance, which somewhat pains me, because I would like our child to have at least one grandparent with an active presence (distance prevents the other two from being able to do so).

I remember my childhood as a happy one, but I was always closer to my father, while my sister was the apple of my mother's eye. I don't think my mother has ever forgiven me for announcing that I was gay (I don't see how else I could have made her aware of this fact). Needless to say not much has changed, and this pattern is perpetuated in the fact that my mother pays a lot of attention to my sister's daughter.

And yet there are good moments too: my mother laughs, but sometimes we can tease her so mercilessly that she literally whoops with laughter, tears running down her cheeks, holding her sides for the stitches. Or the day she stepped out of the glider (her birthday gift was a ride in one: she's obsessed with airborne stuff, hot air balloons, helicopters, etc.), giving a great thumbs up, smiling like a Cheshire cat, even though she managed to break her breastbone due to the weight of the parachute. Or even the day we picked her up from the airport after her holiday in Cuba, which had done her a world of good. Or, more poignantly, the day I visited her in hospital 24 hours after her brain haemorrhage, and she still managed to smile encouragingly in spite of the fact that she was half paralysed.

Mother-daughter relationships are a complex but interesting matter: imperfections colour our characters. They are what make us human at the end of the day. And in spite of all the deep waters that we have swam through and that we will undoubtedly have to cover in the future, we have always made it to the other side safe and sound. And I know that the same will apply over time, as my daughter and I explore and define our relationship.

So here's to motherhood. I wouldn't have it any other way.

--The white lilacs are in honour of my mum: her favourite flower.

Madonna mia!

You have to wonder what the adoption authorities in Malawi, who are completing the adoption process for Madonna's third child, David Banda, make of this.

I hate to gripe on Madonna, but seriously, we've been there, you've done it, Madge, and some of us even bought the t-shirt. The tsunami following her deep throat kisses with Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera rippled through the world press at the time and I remember thinking that I couldn't understand why she was pitching la Spears to us, when Christina Aguilera had so much more to offer, including a voice for example. We all know what happened since: Britney Spears imploded on herself and her career (remember that disastrous performance at the MTV music awards), while Christina Aguilera reinvented the forties with some good music and had a stable family.

This... well, this is so passé. She's made some great music, I have diligently bought her cds, but now I have to ask myself: Am I getting too old for Madonna, or is she simply getting too old for me?

Oh she was gorgeous - the girl in Rineke Dijkstra's pic

It's been a while since the last dose of gorgeousness. Eventually, this photo cropped up from somewhere deep inside.

Dutch photographer Rineke Dijkstra took this photo one evening on a Polish beach. The teen in this photo just ran up and struck a pose. The pic is reminiscent of this famous Botticelli painting of Venus rising from the sea:

I would hasard a guess that I am somewhat pre-disposed to liking the photo as Botticelli happens to be one of my favourite artists. And this painting, although reproduced to death, still holds a certain sense of magic for me.

But the coincidence is there and I just wanted to share it with you.

Revelations?

I thought long and hard about whether I wanted to post a photo of myself on this blog. Given that so many other bloggers do effectively document their lives photographically, the temptation is there.

But it isn't strong enough to actually suit the action to the word. The illustration in the header of this blog is a more or less apt representation of my humble self (I do have a cleavage). I wonder if it would make a difference. Would it make this blog more humane? Would people find it easier to engage?

I don't have the answer, but in the meantime you'll have to make do with my cartoon alter ego.

The DDM has a new frock

and it's all thanks to Suburban Mum, who was kind enough to put her webdesign skills to work, in order to create me this fab new frock.

And yes, she does bespoke templates for anyone who asks nicely.

Summer in the city

This coming weekend Belgium for once will hold that most enviable label of hottest place to be in Europe.

People have started driving like nutters, speeding with their car windows open, although we have yet to be subjected to insistent rap music or Rai stuff (which sometimes can be very good.) I always say that the accident rate rises in line with the degrees on the thermometer and the hemlines: the more skin women start to exhibit, the higher the chances of the hormonal young males in this city crashing into something. So far, only two buses down the road. Everyone escaped in pristine condition.

At the gym, there is currently an influx of weedy, tight-bodied women, who spend hours on the stairmaster or any other of the torture instruments that are so popular with women with a bikini itch, that needs scratching. I have never felt the need to make such a spectacle of myself clothes-wise. As you might have guessed, I have biked past the entrance of the gym, but I did not make it inside (too much work this week).

The good news is that now the terrace is open again, I can work outside. No noise whatsoever except the odd airplane.

Bliss.

PS - Pic to follow, but the harsh sunlight is impeding my creative and photographic juices.

Tagged: 4x4

So Bun tagged me, and I thought that this was a rather interesting one, so I will bite this bullet.

4 PLACES I’VE BEEN
1. Imilchil festival near Tinerhir in Morocco’s Atlas Mountains: The year that I graduated I travelled through Morocco as a backpacker. One of the more memorable destinations was Imilchil near Tinerhir in Morrocco’s Atlas Mountains, where the Berbers flock each year to find a husband or wife. I ended up washing in mountain streams and sleeping in between carpets to keep warm at night. A really memorable experience.
2. Linderhof castle: I profess – very un-PC—to liking Wagner’s music. I always have. My father hated it for all the obvious reasons. But Wagner’s patron King Ludwig had several castles of which the Linderhof near the Austrian border in German Bavaria is probably the most charming. The mirrors reflect forever in his study and it comes with a table that rises through the floor so nobody could watch him while he was eating.
3. New York: I travelled to the Big Apple for the very first time, a few years after I discovered that I was gay. Unfortunately I was still too wary to explore the city’s fleshpots, but I must have visited every museum in NYC.
4. Cape Cod: My second home. Nauset Beach.

4 JOBS I’VE HAD
1. Selling newspaper subscriptions to students: a student job. I lasted about a month.
2. Editorial assistant – working for an editorial staff mainly consisting of men. Boring, but it was my first real job.
3. Journalist for one of Belgium’s leading newspapers. The job of my life.
4. PR flunky. I thought that I would love this job, but in retrospect I wasn't cut out for it. I simply am incapable of schmoozing but I really liked the research and writing work. 5 years.

4 OF MY FAVOURITE FOODS
1. Rhubarb fool: Double cream, rhubarb, sugar. What more can a girl want.
2. Fish: Like Bun, I am a fish and chips fanatic. Always choose haddock. But I also love swordfish steaks, marinaded gently, or black cod, or tuna sashimi, etc.
3. Risotto made with Vialone Nano rice: I adore risotto. Can't live without it and it is a staple of our weekly menu. It has so much potential. But beware, you need good rice, good stock. And you need to know when to stop adding the stock.
4. Maids of Honour pastries: Hot out of the oven. So hot that you can’t even eat them yet. A secret recipe.

4 SCENES IN MOVIES I WISH I’D WRITTEN & DIRECTED
1. The confrontation between Jack Nicholson & Nurse Ratchett in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest
2. The last scene of Dangerous Liaisons
3. Any scene in The Hours
4. The confrontation between Tracy Lord and her dad by the swimming pool in The Philadelphia Story

So now I'm told that it behooves me to find four new Chinese volunteers:
Vikki
The elusive Frau Genau
And anybody that wishes to partake in this tagging fun.

Feel free to ping-back.

I <3 Waitrose

Yet another trip to England has sadly flown by and yet another hour of frustration as we swept ourselves through the local super-Waitrose.

My aunt looked at me incredulously and said: "Surely, the supermarkets in Belgium stock all that wonderful food; I don't understand the problem?".

How can I explain that the local Delhaize does not have Cape Cod cranberries dusted with cinnamon, a Monsooned Malabar Coffee, Sage Derby cheese, Cornish clotted cream, nice pucey stalks of rhubarb, Gü chocolate banoffee pies, etc.

I herewith hang my head and confess to being a food junkie. So handcuff me and take me back to Belgium, where foodgasms are hard to be had and few and far between.

Waitrose, I am thy humble worshiper. Now when will you answer my prayers and open a branch in Antwerp?

Three languages, no barriers

Or how children can reach across language barriers and still become friends.

French, English and Dutch mixed and intertwined; 2, 3 and 4 played and shared in two gardens outside London.

The marvels of being a child.

Spread my ashes here

And I will be the happiest soul in the world.

This is my private sanctuary, where I always return and where my life will end.

The expanse of rapeseed flowers, the rolling Sussex downs, the chime of the bells at Berwick Church, where Vanessa Bell and Duncan Grant created murals and decorations for the altar, the fig tree gently growing along the wall and the foxgloves preparing their sunny burst of colour along the path to the church.

Maybe the participants in the wake will sit down on the stone benches that dot the simple graveyard, or maybe they will take a stroll along the path between the fields, breathing in the good air.

As long as they feel the happiness that I feel there.