New Year's Resolution Fulfilled - oh yeah!

Good afternoon to you!
I hope this day finds you feeling optimistic and full of anticipation of a good 2015.

I cleaned my oven today. Yay!
No,no,no,no, don't run away now...You have NO idea what an achievement this is!
You see, I am definitely NOT a natural born cleaner.
In fact, I hate it. I do it though, as I hate dirt as well. Not a good combination...very unpractical. But, truth be told, I would gladly pay someone (man or woman, I'm very into equality) to do it for me, except I cannot afford that.

So, with the sun shining and all the festive parafernalia cleared away, I took a deep breath and bought new gloves, oven cleaning poison, new sponges and stuck my head into that oven.

I use if often, being an oven cook (read: lazy cook), and this last couple of weeks it has been doing overtime with glazed potatoes, roasts, fish, more potatoes, cakes, even more potatoes and home-made crisps.
And thus it was filthy. It took me 1 1/2 hours...But now it is sparkling clean.

The thing is though, I had to use that Hagesan poison. Oh...it works alright. But I prefer natural cleaning materials. For instance, I clean my bathroom with clear vinegar and sometimes soft soap, and that works fine.
Question: does anyone have a natural solution for cleaning a filthy greasy oven???

Obviously, with music playing the enormous role in my life that it does, I looked up a good cleaning song. The link is right next to this line. Dixie Chicks

And it feels great. It is absolutely true that a clean oven makes you feel all righteous and good :P

Right. And that ends this prosaic blogpost.
See you soon!

Happy One Year Anniversary to Rays of Light The Blog.

Hiya! By the time you read this, that means it has turned November 24th, and Rays of Light has been up in the air for exactly one year.
And what a year it has been!

Whether you have read just one post, or if you have been a regular reader, know this:

this has been an amazing journey!

I started out in November 2013 feeling not a little depressed, anxious, frazzled, morose, and-what-have-you. In short: not a happy little bunny!

Being an overzealous conscientious worker was finally catching up with me. In short: taking over and turning me upside down, inside out and generally pissing me about.

I started suffering (yes, really suffering!) from stress-related garbage, and traumatic events from my youth (long repressed) suddenly coming to the surface and costing me my peace of mind.

Still.

I do.

In the middle of all the shit, all the pain, all the heartache, there is good. I witness it every day.

It's in the little things. 

The smile in the street. The hand on my shoulder. The cup of coffee waiting for me when I get to work in the mornings. The warm greeting by a pupil. The palpable love given me. The wet nose of Viggo on my cheek in the night. The trusting look of Gina.

To get myself back into mental shape, I turned to three things: blogging, music and Ralph Waldo Emerson.

This is SUCH sound advice!

Hopefully you have enjoyed my blog. And you're welcome. I intend to keep on keeping on.

I'll post about music. About life in between the lines. And Viggo will join us from time to time.

I'll leave you with the soundtrack of my life. Just follow the link.David Bowie - Changes

Keep Calm and Blog On!

Hi there, my non-replying blog friends :-)

Don't worry, if all you want to do is read...that's fine with me.

I have been surfing the blogger's web. Fast clicked through approx. 20 other blogs, and found most of them are old and not refreshed.

Well, at least here you get a brand new blog very regularly!

I looked at gorgeous Brazilian guys on some beach, and some not-so-gorgeous Asian guys in...yeah, where exactly? Anyway, they looked to be doing typical guy things (like drinking and making silly faces), and it made me reflect that guys are guys the world over.

There was this beautifully executed blog with intriguing photos and lovely little drawings, and I wanted to compliment the blogger, and found I couldn't as there was no way to comment. What a shame.



Told you I am at an impasse, didn't I?
I'm quite serious here!

Perhaps I'll ask Viggo for his opinion. He usually has an out-of-the-box approach.

Swami-Time: Tenacity. Always a good thing?

Hello again.
The first thing that leapt to mind when I thought about this 12th "Ity" was that you can translate tenacity into bullheadedness. And is that a good thing?

To keep it personal: I am nothing if not tenacious. But that could prove to be my achilles heel as well. When does tenacity turn into a stubborn refusal to face facts and let go of a bad situation?

(Right. Before all of you start merrily guessing about what on earth I am talking about, I will not lift up a tip of the veil. Ha!

Sorry. Some things are better kept private.)

Back on track: tenacity. It can be a very good thing. It means you do not give up very easily, that you hold on, that you are determined. You are prepared to make a stand, even.

And it can apply to all sorts of things. Your work. Your health. A skill. Your life.

Kate Bush (with big hair) and Peter Gabriel - Don't Give Up.

Which again leads to a leap of the mind:

I've had a notification of someone's suicide four times in my life now. 

The first thing that jagged through my head every time like a bolt of lightning was the question why?

Of these four, three persons were not terminally ill. They had loving people around them. All three had not reached their 50's yet. 

One did have a terminal stage of cancer. He clung to life with a tenacity and a zest that was great to behold. But when the cancer returned, after a respite of 7 years, he decided to take the matters into his own hands. He was as determined in this as he had been in living life to the max. The same day he was told the terrible news that the cancer had returned, he ended his life.

I do not judge.

I question. What triggers one person to hang on to life with tenacity, and the other to want to end it just as tenaciously? 

Older Women. 5 Reasons to Love Them!

Good morning to you, where ever you are!
This post is about "women of a certain age". Which poses the first question, because I am told that 60 is the new 30, so what age exactly are we talking about here???

Here we are: 86, (almost) 56 and 17. Three generations. And a very apt photo, for that's me in the middle; sandwiched between the emotional needs of my elderly Mum on the one hand and those of my teenage daughter on the other. So now you know why I am the one looking rather tired...

I will link you  to a hilarious song I found on the internet, which sparked off my thoughts on women over 50. We are often invisible, us older women, the ones with the thinning hair and the sagging breast and the rounded bums and tummies. Not to mention the varicose veins. 

A wonderful song by Donnalou Stevens

But, according to Donnalou, we are divine. And I would like to add: indispensable. Why? Let me tell you!

1. Older women have wisdom. And some have a great sense of humour.

Let's face it. We have lived long enough to have learned to think before we speak, and to think after we have spoken as well. This makes a change from the young, who more often than not blurt out their thoughts before they are fully formed.

2. Older women have to juggle the needs of everyone around them.

Sounds familiar, hm? When your kids are small, that logically means that your parents are not quite ancient yet, and are often able to help out. But by the time that you are over 50 yourself, your parents are over 70, or in my case well past 80. And they need help; ranging from physical help, to emotional help to practical help.

I don't know how it is where you live, but in my country the government expects us to care for our elderly more and more (due to a lack of funds).

Due to cutbacks and the financial crisis we are in, there are not enough houses for the young, and grants for studies have been halved. So we often have our over-18 youngsters still living with us. Who lean back and expect Hotel Mama to run as smoothly as ever.

3. Older women struggle with the menopause.

This used to be the Big Unmentionable, right alongside with having your period. Thank Frith I can speak about it, for I see women all around me trying to get through this bewildering stage of their lives without to much collateral damage.

For most of us this period lasts approx. 10 years. Ten Years!!!

And not only do we have to cope with lack of sleep, hot flushes, dry skin (and a dry 'mussel', as one of my friends calls it), mood swings, a short fuse, thinning hair and sagging bodies. If we are in a relationship we also have to cope with the reaction of our partner to all of the above. And let me tell you, I don't see a lot of empathy and sympathy on the whole...

4. Older women are prone to health issues.

Yeah, but so are older men, you may say. Yup. And guess who takes care of these older men? I rest my case!

5. Older women often have to go it alone.

Statistically, we outlive our men by at least 5 years, and often far longer. For the generation of my Mum, this is even harder, as they have relied on their men for all things technical and often financial as well. I fill up the car with petrol for my Mum, she never learnt...and is too old to start learning now. When I tried to teach her, she ended up spraying the forecourt of the petrol station and that was it.

I see them, with their walking frames, alone in the shopping mall, and shudder. Is that the fate of us all?

NO!!!

What we need to do, is recognise that society cannot do without the older women! And we should value our older sisters more. And facilitate them. Empathise. Cherish. Value.

Older women make the world go around. Without us, it would simple stop.

Happy Summer Solstice to You!

Good evening, my Summer-loving friends!
When you are, like me, in the Western hemisphere, tonight is the shortest night of the year and the start of Summer. Would you like to come on a Solstice adventure with me?

Here we are, at the start of our evening walk. I hope you are wearing good shoes, wouldn't want you to twist an ankle on your town spikes or anything!

Just look at this road. Where will it lead us? Where would you want it to lead? To a new life perhaps, another job, a fresh loving relationship, a richer future? Or are you satisfied with where you are in life?

As you can see, along the waterways of our walk, the swans all have babies. They use the long evenings for eating as much as they can eat, and then cuddle up all together for the night. It's still too early for bats, but the swallows are out in force, swooping and calling to each other. And if we are really, really lucky, we might see this beauty.

Probably not though, they keep themselves to themselves. 

We'll continue our walk, along the country lanes into the dunes by now, for we are walking towards the sea. 

The sea is omnipresent in my corner of the world.

There is no escaping it. It rules our climate.  

On the way to the beach, we pass a garden. The Cosmea are in bloom, catching the last rays of sunlight. And the bees are out in force, making the most of the long evening to gather as much pollen as they can.

They especially like the clover, which covers entire meadows at the moment.

Now, if you are like me, you are now pricking up your ears to try to catch the sound of the cuckoo.

We are very close to the beach by now. Are you still keeping up? Don't worry, we're almost there. One more dune to climb.

And here we are.

We'll walk towards the water's edge, and sit in the sand, and later on we'll build a camp fire to keep the chill at bay. I hope you didn't forget to bring the wine?! We'll ask my favourite Dutch band Jodymoon to sing us a song. Use the link for Playing Around

We'll watch the sun sink into the sea, and the first stars come out. And we'll reflect on Life, and all its sorrows and joys.

Happy Summer Solstice to You!

Are You Feeling an Outcast because you don't like football? Take heart!

HI, my dreaming friends. I am going to say something outrageous now. I.am.not.interested.in.football.
There. I've said it.

Yesterday "we" Dutchies beat Spain by 5-1. Hurray. Millions in my country erupted in almost orgasmic joy.
Having dinner with my fellow justices of the peace, at our local Greek restaurant Limani, was very nice. Good food, good wine, good company. And people bolting their food at the tables all around us, because they wanted to be near a huge TV by the time the football would start. Never mind that Limani turned on their flatscreen as soon as it started (thankfully with the sound turned down low), and that the waiters ran around cheering as soon as someone scored.

You see, I don't mind that. Good for them. Just don't ask me to watch as well, or to pretend I give a hoot. And that's exactly what I want to tell you about.
For even though I let everyone around me enjoy their football (I even bought the beers, cakes and nuts for my family at home, who belong to the watchers), and would never tell anyone that it is, for example, a waste of money, people get really upset when I dare to admit I do not give a toss.
Someone told me to get a life, yesterday, when I said (when asked if I was going to watch) that in my opinion football is overrated. 
Get a life? I mean...Gosh! 
And when I cycled home (after the match, but that was pure coincidence) in my white coat some people (too many beers in their bellies) yelled at me why I wasn't wearing orange.
Quite scary, that. It made me uncomfortable. And it made me reflect on group dynamics, and how unreasonable they can be.
Right now there's a football madness in my country that bewilders me. And it's fine, they can wear orange underwear for all I care, and dance the polka, and feel really happy, and name their kids Louis to honour Van Gaal, may he save our country and grant us eternal bliss. But they should not tell me how to live my life!

Equanimity - Balance Is All

Good evening! This is the 7th "ity" post. And one near and dear to my heart.

It is all about balance. And balance is something I've been trying (and sometimes straining) to achieve all my life.

When you are big on emotions, balance tends to get lost on the way.

My family used to mutter a German saying whenever I swayed hugely from one side of the emotional see-saw to the other: "Himmelhoch jauzend, zum Tode betrübt" (I hope I've spelled it correctly, if not, let me know? My German is strictly phonetic )

Exactly WHY they found it necessary to use a German saying, beats me, by the way.

These days I see the same thing in my daughter, and get reminded of how I must have appeared to the people I was living with when I was 17.

Thus, I have always greatly admired balanced people. I read articles about yoga, not practicing this myself. I can watch ice-skaters, tight-ropers, anything-using-balance-ers with baited breath, for hours. Joke.

Seriously, the Dalai Lama must be one of the most balanced people of the world. He oozes equanimity, to me.

This week Maya Angelou passed away. She strikes me as a very balanced person. I don't know if you have ever read her work. Truly, her death has robbed the world of a wonderful, extremely wise woman. I've linked one of her inspiring poems for you. Maya Angelou: And still I rise

Someone said this photo reminds her of a portal. How very apt! I like to imagine it is through a portal like this that Maya Angelou passed on her way to another dimension.

Oh...and about that balance? On a good day I seem to have found it. Until it gets lost again.

Good night.

Thank Frith for Small Mercies! And pupils...

Hi all!
As sad as I was yesterday, today I started the morning at work with a belly-laugh. Let me tell you what happened.

I arrived early at school, as usual. But, unusually, there were already two pupils (15-year olds) waiting outside my office. They turned out to be waiting for one of my colleagues, who would arrive in about 15 minutes time.

One of them took out a bottle from his backpack, and as it was an unusual shape, it caught my attention. He twisted off the cap, and took a healthy (and prohibited!) slug. 

Before I had the chance to scold him (no drinking in the corridors!) he spat out the liquid and held out the bottle to me, doing his utmost to keep himself from gagging.

"Miss! What is in this, can you tell me what this is?"

I took a good look at the bottle. And translated the English text for him that was printed underneath the cheerful lemon-in-the-sunshine.

" Lemon-oil salad dressing"

After the first shock he was able to laugh with me and his pal, who was practically rolling down the corridor. We all agreed his Mum could do with an English lesson.

And how is Life treating you today?

Enjoy the rest of your day!

Sadness - such a secret emotion.

I am sad.
Hello, good evening to you all. I saw Ecuador has joined us. Bienvenudo!
Tonight I am going to bore you to tears. Or move you ... You take your pick!

I am sad.

Last Friday night (but I heard last night) a man passed away whom I looked up to, respected, liked immensely and was always happy to meet. He was the best friend of my step-father, so you could say I grew up with him around, from the time I was 9 years old.

He was charming. A clever businessman. Funny. Good-looking. Sometimes tormented, but he never talked about that with me.

And he was nearing 90, I  believe. So you could argue that he had a long life. 

Yes, he did.

And he lived most of this life very comfortably off. So I am trying my damnest to be philosophical about his passing away. Except it doesn't really work...Yet another one gone.

(How many people will I have to lose...the inner child in me wails)

The weather didn't help me at all today. It was grey, damp.

And being at school, teaching all those youngsters, doesn't allow for sadness. Sadness doesn't play a part in their school days. At least, not my sadness. (Many of them have plenty of sadness of their own)

So....what do you do...

I've decided I'll do what I always do in a secret sad mood: I look to music.

Ane Brun - Daring to Love

Travelling by Public Transport - Never a Dull Moment

Hi there!
Do you use Public Transport?
Above on the left is the destination I travel to by tube four days a week...Coolhaven. I come from the left (not on the map), Spijkenisse, which I reach from Hellevoetsluis by bus.

All in all I am shivering at my bus stop at 6.40 in the morning, to arrive in Rotterdam at 7.40 - if I'm lucky. The journey back is longer, as for some strange reason the powers that are think that there are less people travelling back from work than there are travelling to work.  Hence there are fewer buses. (Where on earth they believe those extra people stay, is beyond me!)

As I said, I take this bus every day. So. Picture this. You are in a Dutch queue.
 (Ever seen a Dutch queue? Its most marked characteristic is that there is a cluster of pushing, shoving, toe-stepping, elbow-clashing often bad-tempered people all trying to get through the door at the same time)
You manage to get inside the bus! This gives you a warm glow of satisfaction. The next hurdle is to obtain a seat. You say 'hi' to the driver, who, on a good day, says 'hi' back. On a bad day he or she grunts. On a really bad day, he or she closes the door in your face, just when you come up panting from the killer-doors in the tube. I have been there. I know how it feels.

But this is a great day. You've got a seat, better still, you've got a seat in the area where most drivers keep the interior lights on. Now you are able to read!!!!
Mind you, I have sat in such a seat, all ready for my little e-reader, surrounded by happy people settled in with their newspapers, paperbacks, tablets, iPads, crosswords and  knitting and then the driver turned off the lights. They do this. Bus drivers are God's bum when they are behind that large wheel.

Not long ago I sat in the bus with my daughter, coming back from an after-work shopping excursion, and across from us sat two middle-aged women. One had a can of coke, and a shopping bag. The other had a suitcase. The one with the suitcase eyed the can of coke. The one with the coke eyed the suitcase. As soon as the bus started to move, the one with the coke made a grab for the suitcase and wrestled it away from the woman. She started yelling. The people around them first pretended not to see or hear anything. We Dutch are good at that. Those three little monkeys have nothing on us. But when they started to fight in earnest, there was a ripple of movement in that bus. People standing up, moving slightly forward towards the driver, as if he could protect anyone whilst manouvering that huge bus around the too tight roundabouts. Unfortunately, the woman with the suitcase was shoved onto the lap of my daughter, who sat there frozen and miserable. But the driver had had enough by then, edged on by some passengers urging him to 'do something about it', so he made an emergency stop (people flying through the bus and crashing into each other), opened the double doors next to us, stomped his way to the women, grabbed the can of coke and threw it out of the door. The can woman then got a boot up her backside, and flew after the can. The other one grabbed her suitcase and ran towards the back of the bus, where she continued her journey looking very smug. The shopping bag was left behind in the aisle, as a little grubby white reminder of the joys of travelling by public transport.

But. There are saintly bus drivers as well. When I was thirteen, and had fallen asleep in the last bus home from the youth centre in the next town, where I had inhaled too many second-hand fumes of Black Afghan (or whatever it was called), and missed my stop in the middle of nowhere, there was this driver who noticed I was still fast asleep in the back row when he parked his bus in the bus car park. He shook me awake, asked me where I should have got off, realised it was just pitch black meadows and orchards and that it was at least half an hour's walk back, and then turned his bus around and drove me home.