musings

Friday evening.
Jan is out with Andy, a geriatric hobo from the Charlottes, one of her truest friends and yes, a real gentleman. Josiah and Moriah are showing their cousins how to build a fort in mom and pap's bedroom while our oldest daughter is catching up on the latest HD garbage that is finding it's way into our humble abode via a 42 " screen.
Our seemingly endless Vancouver summer is finally coming to an end, the kids and Janny are off to school next week and I will try to stay out of any serious trouble by attempting to stay gainfully employed for at least 3 days a week.
It's been 2 weeks since I left "the old country" but I'm still stumped by all that happened while I was there.

Tearing through the narrow back alley's of Amsterdam in a little hot rod Lancia I finally ended up in front of Manja's place, a rustic

I got out not sure what to expect.

Questions running amok in my head. Why was my old pal hiding out in a little no name
There's no beginning and there's certainly no end to this thing so far
How and why does a heart know what a brain refuses to recognize
Why are we not answering the emotional call more often
A song, listened to under the right circumstances can create the right conditions to do the right thing. how do I lash all this gibberish together?
A fine little ditty by the Stories to keep me company and a cold Grolsch to ward off the stifling 20 degree BC heat.

Waiting for the right moment to make some sense of  it all


Amsterdam - Enschede a mere 160 km and not much of a challenge for this hideous little monster that the friendly folks at Hertz had set aside for the odd but friendly expatriate that spoke Dutch with a funny twinge. It's been decades since I sat behind the wheel of a sleek little Italian hot rod. Traffic started to ease up around Amersfoort and by the time we got to Apeldoorn everyone on the road ignored the speed signs and settled in for some high speed acrobatics. Trucks were thundering along at around 130 km/per hour except for the Polish, Czechs and Lithuanians. 40 Years of borscht, rubles and cheap vodka will do that to a person and a unrelenting distrust of the" Man" cannot be wiped out by 15 years of French fries, euros and cheap whiskey. However the Germans and the Dutch never had to put up with such challenges and low expectations and as far as they are concerned the right lane is for the elderly, wimps, and other simple minded rabble and the left lane is reserved for cops, criminals, cheap hustlers and speed freaks. Only 80 clicks to the border now and the bold and the rash are running the show scaring the shit out of anyone who's so unfortunate as to be driving an outdated skoda or just taking mom and the kiddies out to enjoy a bit of country side. About 10 minutes ago I was cruising along at a gentle speed of 140 km p/h, passing a column of trucks when I was rudely awakened by a road Nazi, driving a poor man's Mercedes , who was using his high beams to show his displeasure at finding an obstacle in the left lane. True to fine European driving etiquette he kept at least 10 feet of safe distance between his front bumper and my middle finger prominently sticking out the drivers side window. After passing several trucks I moved over into the right lane and not before long Heinz and his lovely wife were beside us. The fact that we were now cruising along at 180 clicks was not much of a concern to me but Heinz seemed to have some kind of issue with his better half. Shifting DOWN did not put his frayed nerves at ease considering I pushed the pedal to the metal on my little rental. Hitting 210 he packed it in and faced up to the fact that he was just another shithead in the fast lane to nowhere. I'm not quite sure where I packed it in but I couldn't shake the feeling that I wasn't that far behind Heinz .