Generation Conflicts - are they simply natural?

Good evening!
This evening I had an interesting conversation with my son (21) about generation conflicts.

In the Belgian Ardennes, 2011.

When I was as old as he is now, there was a huge gap between the generations. The generation of my grandma didn't understand the generation of my mum, who let their kids run loose and wild (sex, drugs & rock & roll), and the generation of my mum didn't understand why my generation needed to lose themselves in sex, drugs & rock & roll. They didn't want to set us free; we simply took our chance and demanded our freedom.

It gave rise to many a conflict, I can tell you!

I have girlfriends of my own age (on the other side of 55) with children, and we all agree that we experience and enjoy warmer and more open relationships with our kids.

So what causes generation conflicts?
We came to the following conclusions:
- parents want their kids to avoid the mistakes they have made themselves
- parents want their kids to have a better life and take all opportunity for improvement
- kids want to do their own thing
- kids want to be able to make their own mistakes
- kids don't want their parents to meddle
- parents want kids to listen/behave/obey

Perhaps there are more causes, if you know any feel free to tell me.
But after tossing all these reasons into the mix, we came to the following idea:

* isn't all this conflict simply nature's way of making certain our kids want to pack their bags and start out on their own?

I like to watch the swans near my house.

They are caring parents! They look after their kids for more than a year, until the feathers have turned from brown to snowy white. They defend them hissing and spitting and threatening with their wings from dogs and humans. And then, from one day to the next, they are RUTHLESS.
I have witnessed young swans being chased straight into the path of racing cars by their parents. Away! Out of my sight! Move it! You are no longer wanted!
And absolutely no mercy.

Dogs are different, by the way. They live happily in the same house with their offspring, no problem. And cats, too, accept their own kids in the same house, but then cats are more individual anyway.

Still, we thought that it isn't natural for a young person to not want to move out at some stage.  If you stay (willingly!!!) beyond 25, you are either bone-lazy, or have no job thus no money, or there is a medical problem. And yes, there is a tiny number who stay out of altruism, because they feel their mum/dad/both parents cannot cope without them.

So. The next time my kid is stroppy, and I want to paste him/her behind the wallpaper (Dutch expression), I'll try to remember this conversation.

Happy Birthday to You

Today is the day we celebrate the birth of the two most important people in my life.
My kids.
21 Years ago and 17 years ago they were born, both in April and both after months of fear and uncertainty. (Not to mention pain)
But there they were, and here they are :-)

Love you both to the Moon and Back!!

My birthday wish for you two (The Beatles, but by WOTE)

For All Photography Fans - New Website Launched for Wibe Koopman

If you have kids, or nieces and nephews you  are very fond of, you probably know the immense and intense feeling of pride that washes over you when they do something worthwhile.

Well, then you know how I feel right now!
 My son Wibe, studying and working hard to become a photographer, has launched his new website.
It is still under revision, and he needs to translate his biography etcetera, but it already gives an impression of the great things still to come.
Do take a look! The link is underneath this photo he took of me for a portrait assignment. It's one of the few existing formal photographs, since I am always (and always have been) the officious family photographer...

Wibe's new photography website

Into Running? Tomorrow is the Rotterdam Marathon.

Hi, all you joggers:-)
I'll let you into a secret, but don't tell anyone. Ssssshhhhht. I do not jog.

I used to, but that's 40 years ago, and jogging was not even invented then. We used to call it running, and I had to do it in school. And actually...I was pretty good at it! Long legs, long muscles, and stamina from all that cycling to and fro school I had to do every day.
Nowadays I sometimes think back to those days, when I weighed 52 kilos...sigh.

But that's not at all what I want to tell you about.
Tomorrow is the annual Rotterdam Marathon, and it draws thousands of runners and thousands of spectators and it is a festive, fun event.

And this year, 2014, it is even more fun (and rather special) for me, because my son has participated in making a promotion film about running in Rotterdam and I am bloody proud of it. The film is by wonderful Rotterdam photographer Chris Bonis. But Wibe is in the credits, hurray! I'll leave you with the link, right here.
A film about running in Rotterdam by Chris Bonis

Bye!

A Long Overdue Tale: our first dog was amazing.

You either love dogs, or you don't. 
I have never met anyone who said: 'yeah, dogs are okay, but I can take'em or leave'em, really, I may as well have an armadillo'.

No. You are a dog person. Or you are not.
I am a dog person as well as a cat person. People tell me that's impossible, but it's true. I adore and respect my cat, and I love my dog.

Freya, 3 months old.

So this story is long overdue. For I have told you tales about Gina, our stray from Turkey, who we have for 10 years now (and not 8; I realised this when I uploaded the last batch of photos for you). But I have not yet told you about Freya, our first dog.

Freya

Freya was a Drentsche Patrijshond, a Drent for short. We only have 2 proper Dutch breeds, and a Drent is one of them. All the other dogs are imported.
When we wanted a dog, we looked for character and posture. We wanted a retriever, it had to be a swimmer, and it had to be a outdoorsy type of dog, like ourselves. The fact that the Drent is a friendly dog, only persuaded us faster to go for this Dutch breed.

We went to a proper breeder (at least, that's what we thought) and picked a little bitch from a litter of 6. She was adorable, with a  fat pink tummy and keen eyes. We took her home in the car, and introduced her to our old cat Saartje, who immediately jumped up on the linen cabinet and refused to come down for days.
Freya wasn't house trained yet, so we took the advice from someone who said to know about these things, and put newspaper all over the kitchen. Hence our cute little doggie believed she could pee in the kitchen, and has kept up this belief for all of her 15 years!
That was mistake number 1.
Mistake number 2 was the breeder. What we didn't know, was that our expensive dog had come to us with a tummy bug. She needed treatment which nearly cost us the dog plus hundreds of guilders. But she pulled through. Because we were afraid she wouldn't survive, we took her up to our bedroom. That was mistake number 3, for she never wanted to sleep anywhere else but next to us again.

The best dog in the world

Did we regret this dog? No way! She was sweet, friendly, cute, funny, curious and a fast learner. A Drent always brings you something when you come home, retrieving is in their genes, and after an embarrassing episode when my new boss dropped by to bring me some urgent letters to type, we quickly learned not to leave our dirty underwear lying about the house.
She defended our home, and thought it her duty to keep me from harm. Whenever a man came to visit us, or to repair something, she would always stand between us, and when he crossed an invisible line, she would growl softly. I have seen big, macho colleagues of mine reduced to little shivering heaps on the couch, unable to move from it because Freya would posture herself in front of them and just stare. Nothing else.
We took her everywhere, and could, for she behaved impeccably. In restaurants, she would move under the table and stay there. She went on trains, on buses, on boats (she loved to swim and was a good sailor), and her speciality was sitting in a little cart my husband would tie behind his bike. We cycled all over France, Germany and Switzerland with her in this manner, and people would stop and point.

When our son was born, she became even more protective, and would guard him around the clock. She allowed everything: he could pull her ears, and poke her eyes, and crawl all over her, and she even let him eat from her bowl.

The same with our daughter, although by then Freya was quite old and hard of hearing, and had cataracts. But she would allow to be dressed in hats and scarves, and pulled the sled when it snowed.

Both kids shared the cycle cart with her.

When we did our research, all the books said a Drent will become 10, or 12 if you are really lucky.

Our Freya reached 15 years. In the end she was deaf as well as blind and incontinent. My husband spent months on a mattress next to her basket, so he could take her outside in the night if she needed to go.

How do you explain that you have such a bond with your dog? Only other people with that same bond understand.

When she was in pain (she had bowel cancer), we took her to the vet, who put her to sleep. Then we took her home, and buried her in her favourite spot in the wood, and planted a beech next to her grave. Hers is the only beech in an acre of poplars, so we can always find her.

The best dog ever. 

Our pets are part of the family. How about yours?

Tigger (+) and Gina, then newly arrived

Did you grow up with pets in your family? We had a small zoo, when I was young. Chickens, geese, ducks, a horse, goats, a dog, always more than 1 cat, rabbits, guinea pigs, a tortoise and agapornisses and tropical fish.

So it's no surprise that I want my children to grow up with pets as well, I suppose.

That photo above the blog is from 2005, and shows you a typical scene....we do love our catnaps!

Ah....seeing this makes me realise how grey our Gina has become over the years. Here she was young,  and having a good time with my daughter on the lawn.

She's 10 now, and grey and becoming an old lady, who is stiff in the mornings and who has her old lady whines. And who has days of not wanting to leave her basket for walks, and who has to sniff at e-ve-ry tuft of grass along the way when she does like her walk.

Tigger, the large tomcat we adopted, and had with us for 10 years. And Snuf and Snuitje, who shared the rabbit hutch and were devoted to each other.

Tigger was very macho, and most of our guests (as well as family) were a tiny bit afraid of him. He had the nasty habit of hiding just around the corner of the kitchen, and then swiping at your ankles when you passed him with your hands full of dirty dishes. He used his nails, too. Told you, macho. He never did it to me (Ha! Still proud of that!). And was a big softy when it came to snuggling up to the kids.

He kept all the other neighbourhood cats out of our garden, and dogs as well. But he had a soft spot for our dogs. First Freya, and then Gina. He would share their basket, and snuggle up to them as well.

I don't very often get sentimental, it's not in my nature, but when I look at those old photographs they bring tears to my eyes.

Just look at that face. I'm me. I'm cat. I'm ruler of this house.

And he was. And I miss him to bits.

Our dovecote. It blew down a couple of years ago, and we had to rehouse the doves.

And here we are in the present again. No more doves. No more Tigger. No more rodents. But still old Gina and Viggo the Magnificent.

There is hope.

Hi there, reader.
(Or is it readerS by now? Hope so!)
This is an installment about hope.

Now what do hope and art/design have in common, you may ask? Good question!
There's the hope of the designer, obviously. He (I'll use he, but you can read she into all of this as well) hopes that his creation will inspire, or be of use, or be the answer to world famine (to give but one hopeful example).
And there's the hope of the designer's family. Will he bring in the bacon for this month?
You have the hope of the nation. Is our pride and joy going to win the Eurovision Song Contest for the first time since that too-dumb-for-words ding-a-dong-song in ....whenever that was. Eons ago.

One of the most touching things is the hope that parents nurture. Hope that their kids will be alright. That they will stay healthy. That they will find love. That they will succeed in life, and will be able to fulfill their dreams.

Today was quite an eventful day for me. It started well, then took a nose-dive into near-despair, and then - like a see-saw - up it went again towards a dizzy height (success at last!), only to plunge me down into the next abyss. So, as is my habit, during my 1 1/2 hour tube and bus trip home, I did some reflecting. What is keeping me going? What is important? What do I live for?

My son has some sound advice. Right. I'll live for that 45 minutes of result I had this afternoon.

And with hope in my heart. That somehow, someway, someday ...

(I'll leave you to fill in the dots)

Obviously I've got other things to live for! I live for my family (corny!!!!Sorry!!!). And I live for music. (Yesterday my voice coach gave me a Pete Townsend song to learn. Wonderful! Such fun!)

And last Monday I had a free song workshop at work which was hilarious. We did an Edith Piaf song in phonetic French with Dutch rap thrown in. That was giving me hope as well.

As I said, hope springs eternal. Doesn't it? I'll only have to look into my daughter's eyes.

(Photographs by Wibe Koopman)