The Last Pieces of Lead...

Hiya! 
In my country we have a saying we take out of the closet when we are approaching the final lap of something momentous. Like, in my case, the school year. It is a saying, which goes as follows: "De laatste loodjes zijn het zwaarst". (There! Your very first Dutch sentence! Use it well.)
Translation (literally, not poetically): The last pieces of lead (you have to carry around before you can stop) weigh the most.

And do they just!  I am exhausted.

Just an example. Young guy (one of my 430 young guys) walks up to me during my lunch break, confident smile on his face, spring in his step. "Miss! As you know I'll have my final test tomorrow. Can you give me a private lesson - right now - so I will do well?"

Now, this is a guy who never does more than he can get away with and usually a lot less. Needless to say I have pointed him in the direction of my favorite last-minute-lesson-resort-for-young-guys-who-have-been-pissing-about-for-the-entire-year. And warmly wished him luck.

He thanked me politely, although a tad puzzled.

He probably expected me to push away my salad and give him the impromptu English lesson of the year, earning him a high mark tomorrow.

And he is just one of the many, many such young guys (and a few girls) who expect me to do the same.

Is it just me, or do our youngsters have less stamina than earlier generations?

Anyway, I am very tired. And still three weeks to go until my well-earned holiday.

Still, I also have young guys who give me energy, instead of simply draining me of it. One of them, a troubled kid, gave a glowing talk on maintenance which morphed into a passioned declaration of love for off-road motorbikes. I was mightily entertained.

Right. Time for me to call it a day, so that I can have another riveting day tomorrow. Bye.

We Are Creatures of Habit

Good morning, folks, everywhere :-)
As is my habit, I am using the lazy Saturday (well...I already did the habitual weekend laundry, the shopping and the hoovering) to write a post for Rays of Light (and for The Entertainment Whacko, as it happens. This will probably become a new habit).

What I would like to share with you all today is that I am reading a fascinating book at the moment, by journalist Charles Duhigg, called "The Power of Habit".

Since it is my habit to post an inspiring photo after my first two paragraphs, I will not divert from this. Here you are: hope you'll like it.

What attracted me to Mr Duhigg's book in the first place was the blurb stating (and I quote) "...an empowering discovery: the key to exercising regularly, losing weight, raising exceptional children, becoming more productive or even building revolutionary companies is to understanding how habits work."

Wow! This man, not knowing me from Eve, knows exactly what my issues in life are! He only missed one: nurturing a happy marriage. But still: kudos!

I am a sucker for books, and I immediately craved this one. (Later on, in chapter 2, Duhigg explained to me that this is quite normal for me. I happen to have a craving brain. So do you, by the way!)

The book burnt a hole in my bag, but I had to postpone until I reached home and bed, hours later. But then I could not stop reading. I had to force myself to put it away and turn off the light, resulting in a zombie-like day at school yesterday.

Long story short (in fact the first part of the book): we are creatures of habit, all of us, so much so that we spend our lives habitually craving things in order to reap rewards we are not even aware of and which are often downright bad for us.

Now, it is not my intention to steal Duhigg's thunder, if you want to know the details you simply will have to buy and read his book.

But what I do want to share with you is that, for the first time in 20 years of gradually gaining weight and struggling with that issue, I began to have an inkling why (to name but one thing) it is so damn hard for me to lose it. And why I was effortlessly skinny when I was single. And how (!) I should be able to to turn things around and shed those extra un-needed and uncomfortable kilos.

He gives loads of examples, and they are a good read as well as very interesting. So far I've read up to Part Two, so I have two-thirds of the book still to go. Perhaps I'll do another post about the rest after I've finished, perhaps not. It is my habit to be unpredictable that way.

So, guys and girls, if you are struggling with your cravings as well, in any way, this could be an eye-opener for you as well. Check it out!

(It's a pity my old dog can't read; she could do with this and all!)

Right. You are used to my habit of ending with another photograph. So I'll do. Wouldn't want to upset your habit loop. Or mine.

Grey Is The New Ginger!

You know what is said about people (especially women, for some reason) with ginger hair, don't you? 
Oh, you don't?
Well. They say that red-haired women are harpies. Or feisty. Or temperamental. Get it?

Personally I think that is hogwash. Red-haired women are just as sweet, or as bitchy, as brunettes or blondes.

But let's for argument's sake say that there is a grain of truth in it. That gingers are less boring, more exotic - alright: more temperamental that the other hair colours.

Then I state that grey is the new ginger. (No, not that 50 shades of grey bullshit, I mean grey hair).

Oh dear. I hope I haven't offended anyone now. If you actually read and liked that book, so sorry!

Lately I have noticed a new phenomenon. More and more well-thinking women of a certain age around me have stopped tinting their hair. In fact, so have I! My hairdresser doesn't like it one bit - but then my unilateral decision stops her from earning 85 Euros every 6 weeks, so I totally get her point.

I let my grey come through - my silver wings are getting progressively more silvery every week, I swear. And I like it. It gives me a look that goes with the laugh lines and the wrinkles in my face. And yes, I now do look as if I'm approaching sixty, which I am, so what?

I'm rather proud of my seniority. At work no-one can mistake me for a young nitwit any longer. In fact, I often use it on purpose, when my young guys (I have 430 'guys' I teach English to, from the age of 16 to the age of 24) get too rowdy. "Hey, mind my age, mind granny", I tell them. It's usually good for a laugh. Make no mistake, to them 30 is old, 40 is older and anything over 50 is definitely ancient. I mean, most of their parents are much younger than me!

Us older women have borrowed some of that temper from our ginger sisters, though. At Pinkpop (a pop festival) I observed quite a few grey-haired women rocking to metal bands. With abandon. Without shame.

And that pleases me. 

Selah Sue - I'm In Love!

Belgium is a tiny country, even tinier than my own country The Netherlands. But small countries can be big in some aspects, and Belgium has consistently brought forth huge artists. It started with Jacques Brel and it hasn't stopped.

Milow, Stromae come immediately to mind (and if you in The States have never heard of Milow I forgive you...if you at least look him up on YouTube though).
But now I need to tell you that yesterday, whilst watching day two of Pinkpop live on my TV, I instantly fell in love with another Belgian singer. 

Her name is Selah Sue, and she is amazing!

I had vaguely heard of her, but had never hear her sing.

A quick Google taught me that I was an exception (I have been busy; told you my job is too demanding!) - that even His Royal Purpleness Prince knows her and has had her in his show.

She appears tiny herself, a bit like her country. But her voice is as big as her talent. And this petit girl had the crowd in her pocket, easily. Jiving, constantly in motion, she moved across the enormous Pinkpop stage like a breath of fresh air on her trendy 8 cm poles that looked as uncomfortable as stilts, huge golden ethnic earrings swinging wildly.

It made no difference if she sang with her band (including 2 female backup singers) or all alone, accompanying herself on an acoustic guitar. She commanded that stage, and all 70.000 people on the field.

She is worth checking out, folks, especially if you enjoy knowing about European independent singer-songwriters who are not just any pretty face. A year ago she revealed that she suffers from depressions, something which runs in her family. She made a point of pointing out that the anti-depressive drugs she uses help her function, and refutes some American prof's claim that placebos would help just as well. Just saying.

Anyway...she is, for me, my discovery of 2015 (a bit late, she's been active since 2006). Let her be yours as well?

*Pinkpop - a Dutch pop festival originally held every Whitsun Weekend in Landgraaf. It is one of the more successful Dutch traditions to go to Pinkpop, wear a pink outfit, flowers in your hair and rave.

Viggo Feels Gina is Getting Old!

Hi fans, Viggo here.

You know I am of the opinion that dogs are...well, somewhat thick creatures, don't you? And they are so dependent on their 'masters' (that name! I do not have a master, I AM master!).

And you probably also know (if you follow my blog and Haikus) that my dog Gina and I have a love-hate relationship.

Now, Gina is to blame for that, absolutely! When I arrived in my home 4 years ago, I was more than willing to share her basket with her and bond. But she told me in no uncertain terms that she didn't want to share, and that she didn't feel like sharing her food either, and that I should stick to the perimeter she set.

And I did. We now occasionally touch noses, and she sometimes even gives me a tiny lick, but that's it. I tried telling her about my philosophy and showed her how to do the cat stretch, but her heart wasn't into it. I can tell.

But now I want to share something with you. I am worried about her. She is getting so...old, lately! She groans, and moans, and when she's been in her basket for awhile she has trouble getting to her feet, and she limps through the garden. No cat stretch can remedy that, I'm afraid. I hear my woman tell people that Gina has back problems and that her hip is troubling her.

Now, I can easily do without her, that goes without saying, but my house would feel a little empty when she's not there. Ain't no sunshine when she's gone...sort of.

So today I asked my woman to take a photo of her, at her favorite spot near the pond. And she did.

Happiness is in the Details - Gardening in the Wetlands

Good afternoon (or evening/morning, depending where you are on this globe of ours).
Today we are having typical Wetlands weather: 18 degrees and alternately sunny or cloudy, very windy and sometimes threatening rain. Hence: sweater on - sweater off whilst in my garden. I'm used to it.

The garden is absolutely lovely right now. The wind has not damaged much so far, and we have been lucky with the sudden night frost of a week ago (June! I mean, really!) as well.

Since hubby has cut down our ailing plum tree last Autumn as it was threatening to fall onto our greenhouse, our roses get more light, and it shows! We have more roses in bloom than last year, and they look healthier as well.

I adore roses, so I make certain I walk past them at least four times a day, and sometimes even more often.

This is Snow White (Sneeuwwitje in Dutch), isn't it gorgeous?

And this is a nameless Pink we got from my Mum some years ago, as it was ailing on her balcony.  It is doing very well in our garden, thank you very much, and produces flowers almost as large as  my hand.

And again I have dissuaded hubby to tear out the monarda, as I like it. He doesn't, because it produces loads of huge leaves and 'walks' through the flower bed. It is a sloppy plant. I like sloppy (must be because I'm rather sloppy myself).

Hope you liked the photos, until next time!

Haikus - Ancient Japanese Poetry Gone Modern

Dysfunctional mess

Sad brown eyes beseeching me

Do NOT judge me, please

If you follow me on Twitter (@ReneeRays) you'll know that I tend to post Haikus on all kinds of subjects.

Many of the poets I follow or whose tweets I come across do as well. Some stick to the ancient art form (nature).

But for me the challenge is to catch my thoughts and put them in a 5,7,5 scheme, making the haikus follow my thought patterns.

There is another poetry form from Japan, called Tanka. It has a similar rhyme scheme:
5,7,5,7,7.
So far I have not tried this, but today my gut tells me I should. So: can I bend my Haiku into a Tanka? Let's find out.

Dysfunctional mess

Sad brown eyes beseeching me

Do NOT judge me, please

I too have my pride, you see

and I will pretend I am strong

Hm.

That wasn't too hard.

Perhaps I'll switch to Tankas from time to time.