blog has moved to www.fracasnoir.com

Dear reader,

This blog has moved to www.fracasnoir.com

I hope to see you there!

Susanne Waldau-te Brake
www.fracasnoir.com

music & memories

Music has such an uplifting effect on your spirit. I just have to listen to music when I work, and especially when I write. What started off as a good sound block to our noisy office has become an absolute must to work life. In fact I suffer from abstinence if I ever forget my iPod, which happens from time to time, especially when Reinout brings me to work and I only discover my loss when I fire up the laptop. Fortunately today was a working-from-home-day and I’ve been going though old lounge classics from Cafe del Mar, Hed Kandi, Supper Club, Buddha Bar and (perhaps not so well know but I would warmly recommend) Erotic Lounge.
My absolute top 6 list (in fact 7) with the perfect settings:

1. Morcheba – Slow Down. This is porn at it’s absolute best and most seediest. This reminds me of some eventful nights I’ve had at La Vie en Proost in Amsterdam. Of course Reinout celebrated his stag night there too. But I have much better memories from that place than he could ever compete with! In any case it’s a place I would warmly recommend to the seasoned business man as well as for the girl that wants to experience something extra.

2. Adani & Wolf – Daylight featuring Ernest Ranglin. This is rain drizzling on the streets of Amsterdam, at 11 at night, just before the parties are starting

3. Doctor Rockit – Cafe de Flore. Parisian night. Do I need to say more?

4. Zero 7 – In the waiting line. Forever imprinted in my mind from Sex and the City together with Talvin Singh’s Traveller. Aren’t we all in search of our very own Mr Big?

5. Afterlife – Falling. I was listening to this whilst waiting for an appointment. It was a reunion of an ex boyfriend who I held dear. He smiled at me and once more I was lost.

6. Koop – Let’s Elope...Mambo club with a bit of upbeat lounge music, dancing away with my beau.

Enjoy...

talking dogs and excel sheets

My whole daily rythm is completely thrown into chaos. I don’t get in bed until late, and when I do I wake up several times during the night. I have strange dreams, such as last night I dreamt I was in an East European car of some sort driven by none other than our dog Buddy. In the dream he could talk and we were trying to escape some strange men in an infinitely faster car than the one we had. The whole dream was very surreal, reminding me of one of my fav music videos – Daft Punk’s Da Funk (Big City Nights). Does anyone recall that one?

Talking of strange dream one of the most surreal dreams I’ve ever had was when I was consolidating quarterly business metrics for my accounts I was in charge of. Towards the end of that week I had this horrible nightmare that I was stuck in an excel sheet and couldn’t get out. It was a bit like excel meets pacman. Perhaps an idea for a new game?



















Buddy the talking dog?

domestic battles, hormones and google

Hormones are flying all over the place. It’s like everyone in our household are battling their own wars. In fact we all are in our own unique ways. But it’s not the stress you need before Christmas. Not at all as a matter of fact. On a personal level, I’m going through some major changes, least of all physical. I feel exhausted, even the most mundane chores seems like mountains to climb. Do all women feel like this in their last stages of pregnancy? My friend Google must have the answer. I type in “pregnancy forgetfulness” which is my most apparent symptom. My husband knows it all too well, as I forgot to buy coffee the last time I did the grocery shopping. “Can’t you just remember the most basic thing I asked for?...for once?” he underlines.

Google comes back with 221000 results. This is encouraging. There are more women suffering from this. I read the top 5 and send another couple of links to Reinout just to demonstrate that I have a legitimate reason for blaming pregnancy (once more) as the culprit. He doesn’t respond. So I send him an email venting out my frustrations and dispair (it’s best to attack first, a tactic I know all too well but from the other side). He doesn’t respond to this either. Normally I let it go, but I can’t. I got to clarify myself, if not the next two weeks until maternity leave will be hell. Email number two gets a response. A good one. I even get an invite to come downstairs and watch a film with them. I’m not going to say no to an offer of truce. I go downstairs and we talk. We agree on me working less in the coming weeks, taking it easy and use the weekends to relax. It seems like a good tactic and in fact the only one that could work right now. So on that note, I will go and enjoy my bath, a cup of tea and my latest book that looks very promising “The girl with the Dragon Tattoo” by Stieg Larsson..

back to the 40's

I came across some pictures of the latest Louis Vuitton campaign with Madonna. It’s dark, edgy yet sophisticated. The closest I can come to think of is 1940’s Paris meets Cabaret. Just my kind of thing. I’m stuck in a time warp. I want to be transported to the smokey salons of Paris with sex and glamour in equal abundance. Those were the days when the world must have felt like a very unsafe place, and the remedy for fear was to let go of one’s inhibitions. There are in fact accounts of orgies playing out in those final hours in Berlin before the Russians entered the city. Scenes we cannot begin to comprehend. Perhaps it’s not so strange that sex and fashion will get a new more restrained make-over in the shadows of the credit crunch. It will be more strict and austere, which will play all the more with our senses and fantasies.

































A second photo shoot I came across is the one of Dita von Teese for Playboy. Dita mixes perfectly demure with dominance. She is the type of woman I would love to meet in a bar, over a whisky and a cigar. Glances would be exchanged followed by a casual comment over something rather trivial. It would open the evening for unexpected events....

hair inspiration

It’s been an incredibly uneventful day. Waking up at 11 (bliss), cheese cake for lunch (indulgence), shopping in town (exercise), in other words all the ingrediences for a perfect day. I’m following my no shopping directive pretty much, so only small bits and pieces like two alice bands from Monsoon Accessorize. They are great when your suffering from a bad hair day which I do all to often nowaday’s. To top off this uneventful day, I’ve been spending the past half an hour looking for inspirational hairdo's.

Here are my favourites...

the king and his subjects

It takes less that 2 minutes after I wake up, when I hear the word “please”. It only means one thing, I better get up really fast from bed or my beloved will drop a stink bomb worse that Saddam’s mustered gas (to quote Achmed the Dead Terrorist). It’s become a weekendly tradition by now. It means “woman, get me some coffee or else”. I oblige, not because I particular like to play the female servant, but rather to escape the smell. It has the tendency to linger for minutes. He knows it always work, because I run downstairs to fetch him a cappuccino. Two minutes later I’m back with a cappuccino, black coffee for me and some left overs of the ginger bread house. My beloved looks with contempt on the odd pieces of roof and chimney.

“I’m not going to eat that”
“Why not?” I ask in bewilderment.
“Some kid with dirty fingers have made that.”

He goes on to sip his coffee checking his google ranking. He looks pleased. In fact he looks like the king who is plotting a war against his enemies. One he is sure he will win. Because there is nothing like the element of surprise. Now I don’t want say this is what he is doing, but there is a striking resemblance.

Last summer, when we were in France, he took me to this beautiful medieval village, not far from Monaco. As we drove in through the gate, I told him I could live in a place like this - any day. He looked at me seriously and said,

“Sure, and when we do I shall become mayor. I will be the one that brought Internet to this god damn town”

That’s Reinout for you. Reinout for president?

maternal abilities

There are many ways you can be judged as a good versus bad mum. The standard of measure is often related to how much time and effort you put into your children’s development, school and wellfare. I think I do pretty well on those accounts. But if you want to be concidered an über mum, a little more is required. You are expected to bring your kids to various activities throughout the week, make fresh sandwiches every morning, arrange lavish parties, and last but not least put in a fair deal of effort into Christmas and birthday presents, preferably with a home made touch.

I shall never qualify for the über epithet. That gene must have skipped a generation with me. It became painfully evident when my daughter came home today with the nicest home-made ginger-bread house that her friend’s mother had made for a Sinter Klaas gift exchange. If this was not enough the ginger bread house held a neat little surprise inside of some colouring pens and a pet shop cat. I could never even dream up such a present. Unfortunately (or fortunately depending on how you look at it), Victoria managed to drop the house on her way back home, and thus it arrived smashed in pieces. We all succumbed to savouring on those delicicious walls and chimney with a great vengeance.

But if this was not enough, I came to realise that I was totally unprepared for Sinter Klaas. Even though I had in fact bought presents for Victoria they were not wrapped up. I must admit this had to do with the fact that I got them on sale in the local super market and on H&M. And those type of stores don’t come with gift wrapping services. That is the price you have to pay and yet I had knowingly waited until the last day, in fact the last hour to wrap it all up.

But as I thought the battle was lost and I was going to be revealled as the cheap mum who didn’t even take the time to wrap up a few presents for her daughter, there was a knock on the door. Victoria hurried to open and to her surprise there was a sack with presents. It wasn’t exactly loaded but then again, none of us have been on our best behaviour in the last year. But I suppose we were good enough to warrant a Bratz doll for Victoria and some spices for me. Sint obviously like to see me more in the kitchen next year, transforming myself to a real Dutch housewife. We’ll see about that!

So what is the moral of this story? Take your parental responsibilities or Sint might just have something special in store for you.

Happy Sinter Klaas!















a gift from Sinter Klaas



















flowers for my beloved

from half bad to good

Perhaps it was the sign from this morning, but my day turned out really good. For the first time in days I had a flow to work. As I’ve finalised a website brief I have now diverted my attention to its content. Perhaps not the most exciting work in the world, but with two weeks away to my maternity leave it offers a welcomed breath of respite. I also got some of the portrait pictures that I will use for a project of mine. Funny enough the ones I liked the most previously, I like the least now. Perhaps because my fine lines (which I normally don’t even see) are fully visible in the harsh light. *Sigh* I wish I could photoshop...

morning interlude

We’ve all heard of the signs of the Madonna in the window, and Jesus in the cheese cake. Well I didn’t have quite such a religious experience when I woke up this morning., but still rather unordinary to make some justice for a blog entry. As I was applying my make-up I notice an almost perfect yin-yang sign on the bathroom mirrow, made of a strand of hair. Although perhaps nothing too special, I’m rather fond of signs. You can interpret them in any way you want, to your own advantage and mostly they are always good. I was racking my brains for the meaning of this little morning interlude. Did it have anything to do with yesterday, balance in old life versus new life. Or perhaps the balance in our ever powerstruggling household. I called out for Reinout.

“Honey, there’s a yin-yang sign on our bathroom mirrow.”
2 minutes later he was in the bathroom inspecting it. At that point I could see it was about to peel off (hairs are equally delicate as balance), so I rushed for my camera to take a shot. As I came in the wildest commotion broke out. Reinout was on the toilet and with a warning finger he uttered a few threatening words.

“Honey, I’ll kill you if you post that picture of me on your blog”

Although I never had the intention of taking a toilet picture, I could not resist the temptation. Needless to say, it’s too juicy for this blog.




Is it a sign?

one can't escape the past

Around the time of Sinter Klaas (The Dutch Saint Nicholas which is celebrated on December 5), a certain mood descends on me. It’s not so straightforward to explain, but can be best described as a foreboding yet calm feeling. It’s connected to certain events in the past some four years ago. It’s a very long story, and I won’t delve into much details of it, but the essence of what unravelled to become a crime and a subsequent court case, I can tell.

Years ago, in a relationship with my ex, we had the unfortune to cross our paths with a man who was a solicitor, or so we were told. In fact he came recommended to my partner, for a rather trivial but what at the the time seemed like an important matter. For about a year he worked on the case of my partner, and frankly as it didn’t relate to me, I didn’t take much notice of it. There was only one time, out of the blue that I had the strongest of notions that something wasn’t right. It was about 6 months before it all came to light and we were sitting enjoying our lunch on the market square in Haarlem. I recall, having just had my lunch brought in, when I knew something was wrong. I told my partner not to have anything to do with this man, and go to another lawyer. I couldn’t say why, but it would bring us bad luck. We ended up having an argument, and I walked out of lunch and went home packing my bags.

Of course, I only came as far as the door, and the impact was lost, since my partner assured me all was well. Later that autumn, I started getting more suspicious. We had already sold our house and bought another. My partner’s lawyer had already told him the good news that he had settled the case, and a compensation was being worked out. But the money never came. I started getting fretfully nervous and I was checking everything I could on our solicitor. After several weeks of googling, and calling around to people that were involved in the case, the evidence pointed to everything being made up. There was no court case, there was no settlement, and worst of all money was missing. Money which we needed for the purchase of the new house.

If the last months had been like watching a train crash in slow motion, these where the final milliseconds of that impact. One argument succeeded another, and after gathering as much intelligence as well as opinions from trusted people around us, my partner eventually agreed to go to the police. There the next chock was in store. The solicitor was no solicitor after all but had operated as such for a long time, and several reports were filed against him. I believe our case became the decisive factor, and a year after it had all unravelled, it became a court case which we won. But the damage was already done at that point.

This time of the year, four years ago, I was stuck in a small apartment where we were living temporarily in wait of the exchange of the new house. The walls of the one bed room apartment literally felt like they were caving in on us. My daughter who was then only 6 years old, who should not have been subjected to this cruel treatment, could feel it all too well. That Sinter Klaas she received some gifts from my partner’s so-called lawyer. I was furious, but as we didn’t know what we knew only a week later, we courteously accepted them. That I had to explain I had threw them all away to my daughter a week later, was the least of my concerns.

The aftermath was not so insignificant either. We both lost our jobs, a great deal of savings, our house, and most of our friends. But it also taught me a great deal of human nature, acceptance, hope, despair, humility but most importantly never to give up.

So needless to say Sinter Klaas leaves a certain bitter taste to me. This Sinter Klaas is the first one though with my new family all of us gathered. Perhaps it will be the one were I learn to love Sinter Klaas again.

ctrl + alt + del

We live in a culture where everything is expected to be catered for us. Service should be optimized, fast food should be faster than FAST, pre-prepared food should look and taste as delicious as a home-cooked meal. We expect and demand the anti-cellulite creams to work (but do they ever!), the trains to be on time, and the credit card company to actually adhere to the limit of your credit card and not let you go overdrawn..how the hell do they expect you to pay back an extra 2K just before Christmas?

At the same time it’s become an absolute need for this infrastructure to cater for our busy lives, as the world around us is demanding more and more. For most of the times, we are helplessly dragged along this ever lasting carousel. We rarely sit down and challenge what society has become, and what it has turned us into. And even on the few occasions we do, we are ultimately powerless in this game.
Today I’m convinced everything and everybody is conspiring against me. It’s a feeling of being utter powerless to put down my foot and say NO.

- No, I can’t make the project on time
- No, I don’t even consider turning on the lights and the candles as very high on my priority list.
- Shopping for food? Do we really need it?

The list can go on endlessly. But the fact of the matter is that with Christmas imminent, I feel the urge more than ever to start a social revolution, where only the word NO exist. Michael Douglas character in Falling Down is in all of us, as we act upon decisions taken by others far above our heads.

With no clear line of thought, I could go on rambling for the next few pages. But it’s your luck that I am too tired to. If it was up to me I would be somewhere far away from all commercial input/output, all the failed promises, and the gullible believers in a better world. Can someone tell me, where is the Escape button?

an so there was none...

This morning I had a weird feeling that things were not going to work out the way it was planned. It started with that I was late for an appointment, as we had an appointment with our contractors to look at a blockage in the shower. Of course they were late, and so my morning didn’t start as planned. When I finally was on my way, I realised I needed money, so I quickly run to the cash dispenser. Almost got hit by a bus, but big as I am he saw me in time to hit the breaks. As I was approaching the cash dispenser, I thought it would be just typical i fit was out of order. Luckily it wasn’t but the feeling of something going loop sided kept bothering me.

Earlier in the morning, Reinout had been complaining not feeling well. There is a flu epidemic spreading like the plague, and even the best of us can’t escape it. When I came back from my appointment Reinout was feeling even worse, and it was clear that our Paris trip wasn’t going to fly. As the day progressed all hopes of a late drive vanished. If doom and gloom hadn’t already descended upon us, it did so when my 10 year old daughter Victoria came home. She quickly picked up the vibes, and although the tears and screams were for the most part left out, she had another response in store – silence. I’ve been told I am the master of it, and perhaps this is so. In fact I often find words redundant in certain situations, and secondly I prefer to retreat and ponder my options over going in full force attack. It’s a different style of arguing and what I have learned is that silence vs. attack can result in lengthy battles.

Victoria refused to talk to me as she was clearly demonstrating her unhappiness. This was going to be a battle on two fronts.

Several hours later I have managed to make peace with my daughter, with a bit of bribery. But sadly the trip to Paris seem to be looking like a rather bleak prospect.



















The closest I will get to it

picture perfect

Just came back from a meeting with the photographer of the photo session I had the other evening. I typically don’t like to get my pictures taken, but I was pleasantly surprised of the results. The pregnancy nude pictures looked beautiful and very artistic. I thought about why I felt so comfortable with the whole idea of posing nude. I couldn’t quite get it until my conversation with Marieke yesterday. She wisely pointed out that as pregnancy is the most natural thing there is, it makes as look at a pregnant body in a total different way. I suppose it de-sexualise for once the woman, who is so often portrayed in an objectified way in media today. Well it was an experience I’m happy to have, and a very nice memory for the future. The photos will be ready next week. We’ll have to see if I dare to publish one or two photos here...

the journey, not the destination

This afternoon I had a meeting in Amsterdam with Marieke Hegeman who is doing a research project on online games and seniors. It was a nice break to the day, as we met up in a cosy yet trendy cafe downtown. The conversation was informal and inspiring, and although I felt very tired on my arrival I left in high spirits.

As I was waiting for the tram, consuming the Amsterdam pulse whilst listening to some old school club music, I travelled back...same space, different time. These were streets I knew all so well. From the first impressions of Amsterdam some 14 years ago, on my first solo trip to some years later, living that life I had only dreamed of when I was younger. I’m not talking of a glamorous and pretentious life. On the contrary. It was the odd, the unusual, the life of a misfit. I always believed it’s the flaws that make us all the more beautiful. It’s the cracks in the facades, the peeling paint, the broken windows and the missing tiles that tells the story. A story of love, neglect, and despair. Of fortunes gained and then lost. It speaks of visions and intentions, only to be failed by providence and fate.

That was the life that attracted me to Amsterdam. Then I wanted to be consumed by the raw energy that the city transmitted. Beyond the picturesque streets, and lit up canals. My own travel through that life, always on border, like the voyeur that never participates, lasted some year and a half. And then as much as I had been seeking the strange and degenerated I longed for the normal and safe.

Do I miss it? No, not really. But there are times, when my mind drifts to those Amsterdam nights, its seedy clubs and unexpected encounters with strangers of hidden lives and intentions. They say it’s not the destination but the journey that matters. I’m grateful for the journey having found me.






Scenes of Amsterdam



Meeting with Marieke

Girls and their shoes

I got a lift to work this morning. I’m getting to the stage where I hate to move around, especially since I still refuse to give up my high heels. I can think of a million reasons for ditching them but the fact of the matter remains:

1) They elongate my legs, especially in times like these looking like a pair of tree trunks
2) All my jeans are too long to wear flats
3) I become an inch taller (I’m pretty short)
4) I don’t have any fashionable flats as Cecile has trashed them all to pieces

Shoes are like men. You can have sexy or comfortable, but you can’t have both. The sexy shoe is always hurtful, deceiving (they come in great wrapping) and unfaithful (ever lost your best pair?), just like the sexy man. That settles the case I suppose, I am not only a masochist when it comes to men, I’m a shoe masochist too. Marquise de Sade would have a field day stepping into my wardrobe...















Shoes du jour....vintage Karen Millen

Back at work!

Good night sleep, followed by a hot shower and a cup of tea never fails to do the trick. I’m up early, 7.45 as I’m going into the office today for the first time since my flu. Long sleep ins and breakfasts in bed are definitely over, at least for the next three weeks. Fortunately I have a mini-break to look forward to. Paris tomorrow evening! Can’t wait.

But today is another busy day, with a few meetings. One is with a girl who is doing a research project on Images for the future, and how to create games for a more elderly target group. Meeting her up in one of my favourite meeting places in Amsterdam – Cafe Herengracht.

Well got to go, more to follow later.

the scary beaver

I just came home from a photo shoot. Not something I do on a daily basis, I can assure you. The photo shoot was schedule for the evening, and before that I had an appointment with my hairdresser and make-up artist at Pierot (one of the absolute best in the Netherlands). The occasion for the photo shoot was a pregnancy shoot a la Demi Moore. I had been contemplating this for a long time. I’m pretty liberal when it comes to nudity, walking around the house naked as it was the most natural thing in the world (which in fact it is). But to stand butt naked in front of a stranger, a male stranger for that matter, is something else. Ah well. I put my concerns aside for the moment.

Just before I was to leave, I decided to have a quick shower, and to touch up some hairy parts that had been lacking attention for all too long. That’s one of small dilemmas of pregnancy. You can’t reach everywhere, especially down under. As it was in desperate need of a trim I made an attempt, which after a few minutes of battling appeared to have been successful. But I was in for a surprise. With only 15 minutes to go until my taxi arrived, I stepped out of the shower and in front of the mirror. I was SHOCKED! Half of it was gone (almost) whilst the other half displayed an odd haircut. I quickly came to the conclusion I had three options: 1) Leave it as it is (and be on time), 2) try to fix the haircut (but that would take some precision work) or 3) shave it all off. I’m absolutely cool with a Brazilian, but it’s the kind of job that requires a good wax, not a quick and dirty shave. But given the first two options would look absolutely ridiculous I decided to go bald. As I was shaving the last bit of curly strands off my all too delicate private parts, I couldn’t help but wonder how my husband would react.

Hair and make-up was done in an hour and a half and it was time to jump in the taxi for the photo shoot. At this point my stomach was making somersaults just thinking of going nude. I had a back-up plan though with some clothes that would strategically cover the most intimate parts.

The photographer was really nice, and I quickly felt at ease. From looking at the many nude pictures hanging on the walls, this was just like any other job for him. Still I opted from some French knickers and a shirt from Reinout. So far so good. But the shirt made me look huge, so off it came, and I was standing there in my undies. But those, although nice, reflected a lot of light so I asked Jorn (the photographer) if I should take them off. He insisted. As I wasn’t exactly on familiar territory I asked him to direct me. Under no circumstances did I want to show my naked beaver! He came up with an ingenious solution of raising one leg slightly and thereby obscuring the sight. Phew I was relieved. When the photo shoot was finished he showed me the pictures, and I must say I was pleasantly surprised. I think it broke the last naked taboo I had. I'm so curious what the reaction will be tonight! I shall keep you posted...



Make up galore from Beauty is Life (I bought an eyeshadow
and lipgloss of course!)



At the hairdresser



Later at home, showing proudly off my 7 month belly

Finally!

Finally December. God I have been looking forward to this month. Not so much because of Christmas but it’s become a major milestone for this year. For 3 reasons:

1) It’s the month I go on maternity leave (my body is craving this)
2) It may be the last month before 3 becomes 4 (but it could also be February)
3) It’s Christmas after all (well in 3 weeks)

Instead of counting milk and shampoo bottles (I have this weird little habit of counting down the days to something I really long for by seeing the content of a bottle diminishing day by day), I now have a real scientific benchmark for my progress. I celebrate this with a cup of coffee and a slow wake-up in bed. The latter is needed as migraine has struck, probably as a result of blocked sinuses. This cold is still lingering, and in fact has broken out in full force. I take this as a good sign though and it should be a matter of days before it has cleared up.

Today is a relatively busy day, with a press release going out this morning for our latest Ex Machina product line PlayToTV. So I have to rush, but more stories and adventures later.

Ta-ta!

bed time story part I

A friend of mine just sent me a video clip, which touched my heart. The combination of cinematic narrative and lyrics leaves a haunting impression... Watch it here

Good night!

Sx

My top 18 list!

My off day is continuing, although I’ve done a fair bit of work today, such as cleaning up my computer, emails, and consolidating my plans for a personal project of mine. Nevertheless my mood is not lifting. So I start making a list of New Year’s resolutions for the next year. Hopefully this will get me rebooted.

My top 18 list (and not in order of relevance, but as they spring to mind)

1. Start training and get back into shape
2. Dance, Dance, Dance (at least 3 days a week)
3. Find my passion in life
4. Launch OS.com (codename for now)
5. Become financially independent (it’s of course relative)
6. Blog, blog, blog – I love writing and it gives me inner peace
7. Become more assertive – I used to be but somewhere it got lost
8. Follow my dreams (in terms of priority it’s numero uno!)
9. Close off certain chapters in my life
10. And start others
11. Look ahead
12. Have fun, and enjoy life
13. Write down my goals and achievements as they come every day
14. Not measure myself with other people – I am who I am and should follow my own course in life
15. Be a little bit selfish and think of what I really want (and do not!)
16. BUT know when to prioritise myself and when to prioritise others (the difference between looking out for my own interests and being an egocentric prick)
17. Be with people that gives me energy and scrap the people that don’t
18. Spend more time with my family – life is so short, and I want to see my kids growing up to become beautiful, happy and loving people

It starts HERE!



















A happy picture from the archive

Morning thoughts

Some days feel completely off for no reason. You wake up, the sun is shining (which it is in fact not, but for sake of argument), and you have a brand new day in front of you. And still, you rather crawl under the blanket and fall asleep, waking up to yet a new day where everything feels great again. Today is a day like that. Perhaps dreams have something to do with it. I had two very strange dreams. The first one I was in a synagogue, and there were a lot of people everywhere scattered on the floor, like a massacre had taken place. I looked up, carefully, and the only face I see, that I recognise is Simon. From there on I can’t remember anything anymore. The second dream I get a call from my stepsister, who I haven’t had any contact with for over 18 months. Long and complicated story, but I still love her. She calls me and I’m really happy to hear her voice. She tells me about the last year, and although what she tells me are good news, I notice a sadness in her voice, loss and perhaps something close to confusion. That’s when I wake up. I tell my dreams, and it sets off a quarrel, over my dad. I try to put it behind, but in fact an eerie feeling is still lingering.

I read the news, whilst Reinout brings me yesterdays dinner leftovers in bed. They taste even better than the day before. I’m suppose to share it with him, but before I know it the plate is almost empty. So I go for a shower. The water is cleansing me, not only on the outside, but on the inside too. I lay down and let the drops hit my face. I feel relief.

After shower I make myself a citrosan (cold and cough is still there). Then I go upstairs to one of the guestrooms. There I have a little desk of mahogany that used to be my grandmother’s. I’ve decided to set up my home office there. In fact it already brings back positive memories. Because my mother gave me this desk when I was so fed up with my IKEA room. It sparked off a passion for antiques which I still nurture to this day. Antiques are in fact memories of the past, good and bad. But with that also comes security and stability. Security and Stability, I savour those common, rather dull words, digest them and re-digest. It feels safe.



My new office

Saturday shopping

Just got back home from a 3 hour lunch and shopping stint in town. I'm completely busted and my feet are aching. As my vanity still presides over comfort, I stubbornly continue to wear my high heels and boots.

Well time for a hot cuppa tea and my Cosmo.

Until soon...




Flowers for the living room



Body Shop and Lush products...time for a bit of luxury



Mindless relaxation

Tell it as it is

Last night we were out for dinner to celebrate a small business victory of my husband. We ended up at a really nice restaurant called Restaurant Fris. Reinout who had already been out for an early celebration came home in a funny mood, going on about suspect pictures and associations I was publishing. I guess it was all down to his voluminous alcohol intake, which may have started a tad to early for a Friday afternoon. Nevertheless he assured me all was well and he still loved me (a girl’s got to hear these things once in a while).

So we ended up at the restaurant, ordered about 5 starters – all at once – and started to devour our food. Somewhere halfway during dinner I managed to choke on my soup, which started off a hysteric cough attack. Great, just my luck! People were looking at me as I was the plague personified and apologetically I ran into the bathroom to spare them of the worst sight. 5 minutes later I came out and dinner was gone.

We ordered our desserts. As we were waiting, doing some small talk, Reinout saw the opportune moment to lay into me. I can’t disclose the topic – yet – but it’s sufficient to say he made me look like a dimwit prick with no sense of urgency, work moral, or brains for business. Perhaps he had a point. My pregnancy hormones rapidly started to rise, and tears were welling up in my eyes. I won’t cry, I won’t cry I kept repeating like a mantra, which also managed to serve as an involuntary block for the worst insults that were being launched at me. I managed to unblock myself, as the new me should be more susceptible to criticism. It worked, and I could see were he was getting at. In fact I was happy he was telling me “as it is”. It hit home. And as I was laying awake in my bed in the wee hours of the morning, I was racking my brains, going through every single detail of his monologue.

It felt good though, and waking up this morning, to a nice cup of coffee and good morning kiss, I felt strangely alleviated. “After all tomorrow is another day”...

The handsome guy

Yesterday as we fooled around with the camera I managed to take the one good picture of Reinout. He was flabbergasted by the result, and secretly I must admit, so was I. In fact it doesn't look like Reinout at all. So this afternoon, as I was sneaking downstairs trying desperately to avoid some business celebrity in our dining room (which has rapidly become the WAR room) I overheard him on the phone.

“Yes, I can’t believe it. She actually published the image – on her blog!”
“Hmm, yeah that one is even worse. I look like Holleeder (Dutch über criminal for the non-dutch natives). She’s ruining my business reputation”
“No you should check out the latest one. She’s comparing me with Ned Flanders, and this morning I had about 5 voicemails from people calling me Flanders”
“Hahaha, yeah well at least he’s the smart one compared to Homer”

But as the saying goes, there is no bad publicity. Perhaps I should take on the job as the PR responsible for MMO Life.

So who’s the handsome guy in the picture? Anyone?

what women want

I have with fascination followed the Swedish debate on feminism. Here is the one country in the world with the highest rate of working mothers, superior childcare system, 18 months paid maternity leave which can be shared with the father, and with women earning closest to a man’s salary (a whooping 88%). And still there appears to be a need for a feminist party, feminist organisations, laws etc etc. It’s perhaps not unlikely that gender equality is taken so seriously given all these initiatives, but as a Swede with a foreign mentality it often appears on the brink of absurd. To the point where I really wonder if women want to be treated in all aspects of life, the same as a man. And how does that impact the role of the man? I have this perception of the Swedish man being utterly confused if not in denial. At home, he is expected to share everything with his partner. Whether it’s the dishes, the ironing, cooking, cleaning, you name it. In contrast, how many women takes care of the car and garden?

I can see the rationale though, as women are becoming a major breadwinner in the family, and often has to come home to a second job. Still I can’t help but wonder if men can be pushed into a new role by public opinion. Will we see a backlash?

At the same time, I wish some of the things Swedes take for granted would be part of our Dutch reality. Although on the surface Holland is an emancipated society it has it’s short-comings (from a female perspective).

First of all most women with children (and a good percentage of women without), work part-time. It’s not uncommon for a mother of two to work 2 days a week or not at all. Although I’m not an expert I believe this derives from primarily two reasons, legacy and social structure. Legacy, as until a few decades ago it was expected of the woman to stop working when she got married. Social structure because of the poor childcare facilities. It’s difficult to get childcare in Holland and if you do you pay a fortune. It’s not uncommon with a bill of EUR 1000 for full time childcare. I believe in Sweden you pay about 10% of that. With the average woman’s net income of about EUR 2000 a month, is it really worth working for?

I would say yes, in the long run it is. Not only to be able to earn some money, but I think in contrast to many Dutch men and women, that children will be better off seeing both their parents working rather than one. It paints a more accurate picture of how society really is, and that both parents has to take a responsibility towards the family. Second of all with the mother at home portraits men and women and their qualities in an unequal light which is then carried on the child until adulthood.

In fact from a historical perspective, women have always worked, unless they were from the upper classes. Therefore it cannot be seen as a legitimate reason to argue that it has always been this way.

But this set aside, there are other “news” that would make the most liberal Swede to choke on his morning coffee. Take prostitution. In Sweden prostitution is illegal to “buy”. They are now even considering a law which will make it a criminal act to go to a prostitute abroad. Here in Holland, whilst they are closing down Red Light Districts, we are nowhere in sight of banning prostitution. Perhaps it should be seen as a woman’s explicit right to sell herself, and a man’s right to buy. No matter what values we put on it. I’m painting of course a very simplified picture to a complex problem. I doubt we can ever find a way resolve these social dilemmas. But coming back to the basic point, do we really want to see men as female clones? Not for me thank you. But playing the devil’s advocate with my own arguments, I’d rather be tied up in bed than tied down with chores. Reinout you know what to do!

Reinout vs. Ned Flanders

see the resemblance...

Homer look-a-like

OMG! I can actually wear Reinout's underwear. Funny enough it doesn't look too bad. I take a picture, but in fact it looks awful. I now really look like Homer Simpson. I know Reinout would be mortified if I published it here, so this is how I look like...more or less

Now off to bed!

A Parisian wet dream

I can’t help but thinking of Paris, the city of light and love. We are going there next week, first to Disneyland and then a few days shopping, dining and socializing. Every time I go there, I make a personal commitment to visit the Christian Louboutin store. It has become the holy grail of shoes to me, like my quest for Fracas 10 years ago (which took me two years before I found it in an obscure perfume store downtown Milan). This time, given that I have (with a few exceptions) kept to my shopping ban, I might splash out. I love the red sole, and the patent leather that has become his signature trademark. It’s the kind props that could come straight out of a novel by Henry Miller.


Paris is my far my favourite city. It oozes glamour and sophistication, something Amsterdam sadly falls short of. The women look fantastic, from 17 to 70, they know how to work le chic. Ah well, with France hopefully not being too far away from the horizon, it won’t be long before I can count myself to being part of this elusive specie.

Milling through some of our old pictures from Paris I found these...

But before I forget, any good restaurant tips are most welcome!



Fooling around in a Parisian hotel room




Mon cherie



Jonathan, our favourite Paris boy

Lessons learned

I had a long sleep-in this morning, until just before noon. Sleep must be the most underrated forms of luxury there is. I should know having been an hopeless insomniac for years. What started off as busy spells at my previous work, with sleepless Sunday nights, turned into a weekly nightmare. Not long before soon, did I start taking tranquilizers. Tranquilizers or sleeping pills are such an easy solution, but even after a few days it can lead to an addiction. I don’t have an addictive personality but the choice between not sleeping or popping a pill was easy.

In the beginning it was manageble. I kept myself within the advised dosage of one pill when needed. But as with any substance your body soon grows accustomed to it and one tablet wasn’t enough. In then end, after 3-4 years of taking them I could take as many as 5-6 a night, and sometimes even more. The social implications that addictions have are larger than we tend to believe, most of all for the family who bares the immediate brunt. My daughter suffered terribly from this. There were times I really tried to stop, but then could be awake for 2-3 days in a row. Those days were unlivable. I suffered migraine attacks, and what in hindsight was probably close to paranoia, seeing things that were not there.

It nearly ended in catastrophy, almost... But then there is something called life, with all its unexpected twists and turns, and that is really what got me out of it.

I think with any addiction, substituting the substance with something else won’t solve the problem, even if that substitute is benevolent. Personally I tried yoga, reading books, changing temperature in the bed room, calming teas, music, acupuncture, even a short stint of anti-depressants. But none of this had any major effect on my sleeping disorder. I remained sleepless.

It was only after I met my husband, that I finally managed to kick my habit. And it wasn’t even difficult. In fact from one day to another I stopped altogether. This has led me to believe that even though with all the good intentions and the greatest of professional help, an addiction can’t be cured until the root cause is resolved. For me that root cause was unsafety. Even though I seemingly lived in a safe and stable environment, I’ve felt unsafe, for in fact as long as I can recall. But being in a new environment made me feel safe and secure again. The cause of a problem may vary from person to person, but unless the main problem is not dealt with, the symptoms will continue to exist. But how does one conclude what the problem is? A problem that may be so deeply buried, under heaps of other issues. It’s like a web that slowly needs to be untangled. Well for me, even with professional help, I couldn’t understand nor find it. Sometimes, and probably mostly, it’s a strike of luck. An unexpected change in once life, such as changing jobs, break ups, new relationships or a move, in short a change of environment. It’s hard to explain, as it’s quite intangible, something individual that everyone has to find out or discover for themselves. I can only think of one word that captures the essence.... serendipity.

Please massage me!

My husband loves practical jokes. When he is the initiator. In fact the first time I met him he immediately set to work showing his party tricks. The aim of the dinner was to discuss an important business proposal, but discussions soon went astray. Reinout, as always, took the lead in the matter. As the alcohol was flowing, so did the range of topics. Nothing was off limit and soon we were all on a rather intimate basis. So intimate that Reinout decided to steel my shoes (and smell them!), in addition to my mobile phone, lipstick and other personal paraphernalia. I wasn’t late to show off my own tricks, and challenged my partner at table, an investor at Endeit, for a dance of bachata. It went down very well with the men, and I’ve since come to understand it made an unforgettable impression. I suppose the evening could have ended there, but Reinout felt obliged to outdo us all. So he initiated a chair fighting contest which his new employee, a gentleman from Sweden, who shall remain anonymous, gladly took up. My two managers, sitting opposite each other rolled their eyes in horror, secretly wishing I had never tagged along. Although this story ends here, it starts off another...

Coming back to his love for practical jokes, today he almost outdid himself in that department, on the expense of his wife. It started off quite innocently with a nice tummy and back rub. I could never say no to a massage and as he was manhandling my back, I asked him to go down, harder. Now I can assure you it was all very innocent, as I was referring to a good massage at the lower end of my back. What I didn’t know was that he had just slipped on skype and webcam with his CEO, Simon Usiskin. There I was moaning away, as I casually asked “Honey, please massage me where the fat is!”

I guess in the moment I couldn’t find a better word for love-handles so it came out rather improvised and blunt. Reinout broke out in a giggle looking at Simon’s face who I must say looked pretty dumbfounded.

I don’t know who was most horrified, Simon or me, but as I quickly rewound the mental images of standing leaning over the computer, moaning away and uttering that very bad porn-line, I wish I’ve had the decency for once to have kept my mouth shut.

I’m already plotting my revenge...



Name and shame

Blogging - for better or worse?

Since I’m bedridden for the last few days, I have taken up a new hobby, reading other people’s blogs. It’s a facinating quest for what goes on behind the curtains of the Joneses (i.e. the Svenssons and the Jansen’s). I must admit I tend to read more blogs of women than men. It’s the paradox of the leviating all things female above male versus the inner bitch that thinks “thank God I’m not like her”. Here are some observations...

Women tend to be much more ego centric than men. Although there are exceptions (I like to think I’m one of them, but in fact I know I’m equally guilty), a majority of the blogs written on a daily basis are about...NOTHING. It’s about daily life, buying fridges, dropping the kids off at school, doing the laundry and going to the gym. In short what every person on the western hemisphere of this planet is doing. There is of course nothing wrong with describing this. That’s why it’s a blog (not blogg!) as it’s a web log, a diary. So in fact most people got that right.

But it becomes more interesting. Lately a lot of celebrities have started to blog. Over seas a.k.a Hollywood you will rarely find a celeb with a blog. In fact it’s completely redundant since a) they don’t need the self-induced publicity, b) they certianly don’t need the extra cashflow (advertisement) and c) there is Perez Hilton doing the work for them. But take Sweden for example, every celeb (from A to C) has a blog. The steriotypical blog starts with “I just woke up. Feeling great! Jumped in the shower and now off for my appoinment with my lovely hairdresser. Then sushi lunch with XX. Delicious! This afternoon I have a photoshoot...” and it goes on. The Joneses are reading in envy, and typically make a sarcastic remark on the comment section.

There is a fascination, a love-hate relationship, prying into these people’s life. Like a peeping Tom we get to know these people, from a distance. We comment, mail (but never get a reply) and add them on our friendslist. Some celebs are too good to accept the invite, others do it gladly as they know these people will come back and again.

As we are blogging, reading and commenting, the Blogging world is spreading it’s wings accross the net. A decade ago, we had Models-turned-Actress as the epithet du jour. Now we have Actress-turned-Blogger, Model-turned-Blogger or the latest of the latest, Blogger-turned-TV presenter, it won’t be long before Blogger-turned-Actress and other hybrid versions appear.

But as with anything else, who bares the responsibility? The leader or the sheep. Because as much as we love to hate the blogs, we are the ones reading it. We are the ones responsible for generating revenues of 8 to 10 K (euros) a month for the most hyped up blogs. But perhaps that also gives us a fair bit of right to tell the bloggers our own opinion, no matter how stupid and obtuse it may seem.

unexpected encounters

Reinout arrived earlier than expected. As I turned around he was suddenly there. Although he wasn’t carrying a bouquet of flowers (it would have been nice), it was a great feeling to have him home. Several group hugs later we sat down for dinner to discuss the last few days, in fact disecting every hour. Victoria was lucky enough to bump into the Queen today on her way to the pharmacy to pick up my cough medicine. It’s not every day you encounter someone of such nobility. She managed to capture the Queen's hand on her mobile phone before she sped off. Victoria was in awe!




Victoria in my bed, before going to sleep last night



In bath with Ceci this evening



Stuffed courgette for dinner

A tribute

When I was young my biggest role model was my grandmother. She was the epitome of stylish chic. Sophisticated, well-spoken, and educated, she had a certain allure around her, that I think few women of today possess. She was of course born in a different era, devoid of sexual exploitation, or at least on the surface. A world that lived by moral codes, where a gentlemans agreement was worth its weight in gold, and men and women lived in an interplay garded by strict rules of conduct. My grandmother, Margit, was born the same year Titanic sank, in 1912. It must have been common in those days to refer to important events in context to another even more important event, because whenever her date of birth came up in conversation it was mentioned in the same breath as Titanic.

My grandmother’s life was not as disasterous as the famous passanger liner. In fact she came from a rather wealthy family, that owned race horses, factories and vacation houses. She was also incredibly beautiful. That is perhaps what I recall most, her sheer presence and beauty, which had the ability to master any room or situation she found herself in. Perhaps some of these memories are made up from my own all to vast fantasy. Perhaps they come from the many stories my mother told of her, because in fact I was only 5 years old when she died. Whatever the truth, it doesn’t really matter. My grandmother has taken the lead in my own cavalcade of women I have the greatest admiration for. She’s up there with the Pompadours, Marie Antoinettes, Queen Elisabeths and Jean D’Arcs of this world.

For a woman of that time, she was incredibly astute, knowing how to take advantage of the society she lived in. She worked in the hospital as a physiotherapist and later rose to leading this team. That’s where she met my grandfather, an improbably handsome man who was a pediatric doctor. She used to run into him in the corridors and as self asure as she was, struck up a conversation. Like an old film rolling in front of my eyes, I can conjure up images of love at first sight. Or a least that’s what I’d like to believe. They married the year after they met, and after a few years of not being able to conceive, adopted my mother from a war torn Finland. That’s another story in itself.

My grandfather was the love of my grandmother’s life. When he died, in 1942, having his car demolished from a train crash, my granmother was devestated. She never remarried, and as far as my mother new never had any other men in her life, despite the long procession of suiters. My grandmother loved to party, and when she died she left two wooded trunks full of gala dresses, furs, crocodile shoes and handbags. Every girls dream. I used to play with them until my mother decided they were too ruined by moths, so one day they were gone.

But the mementos are within me. The image of a strikingly vibrant lady, smoking cigarettes with a black, slim cigarette holder, her presence faintly giving off a trace of Guerlain’s L’Heure Bleue.




my mother and grandmother

Parties and Cosmopolitans

When you are ill and bed ridden, there is only one thing you can do...escape. Not litterally, although you surely wish you could, but by letting your mind drift away on things and matters that you wish for in life. Life is so darn hectic, leaving very little time for creativity and imagination. There is one plan after the other, meetings here and there, and bills..heaps of them. Sounds like the epitome of a creative nightmare. I can’t honestly recall the last day in months (well since my holiday anyway) that I truly had a day off. But today feels like a great excuse and I will take every opportunity to ride on it.

My thoughts are already on a beautiful place we found this summer in France, I go through it room by room and imagine the tranquility and peace, a place I have always longed for and will be our family home one day.

I think of next year, a new situation, a new beginning, a new life. Funny enough this dream is more like an open canvas, still to be painted. I prowl my mind searching for anything to give direction. But there is no golden compass to lead me.

But there are some more immediate, estetic goals however. I’m thinking of grulling gym sessions, preferably with a personal trainer that beat the craps out of me, facials, anti-cellulite treatments, shopping (it’s one thing I’m completely off right now, but I know it will return with a vengence), parties and cosmopolitans. God, I’d do anything to be the life and soul of a party right now.

Chin-chin anyone?

Down and out

The day is spent in bed. My body is under siege from the flu, fighting a loosing battle. I got the third degree from my family for not going to the doctor today, so I made the promise of all promises to take better care of myself+1.

All is not that bad though. Our cleaning lady Caroline was here today, which was just as well as the house looked like an utter mess. She did an excellent job in not only caring for the house but for me too, and Victoria has just brought me hot tea in bed. In sickness and in health as they say....

Deals and promises

Waking up to a snowy Haarlem (although it soon evaporated) made me long for Christmas. Although we are a month away, I just want to fast forward to the weekend before Christmas. The weekend is in fact already planned. I have our cleaning lady coming over to give the house a good Christmas clean, and myself a good exercise! It’s a Swedish tradition in our family. The house had to be spic and span. We would take out the oriental rugs, and brush them with snow (my mother claimed it would return the sparkle to our turn-of-the-century carpets). All silver would be polished and the china would get another wash. Christal chandeliers would also get a good wash. We would buy hyacinths, that would spread a perfumed fragrance around the house, and oranges with cloves would be hung up in the kitchen window (this was before fragranced candles and potpourri sachets).

There are some traditions that have been left behind. Such as celebrating advent with burning a candle every Sunday. I should pick that up again. For children it’s especially important, as it signifies the countdown.

But I have more immediate countdowns on my mind. My husband just left for a trip to Germany. He won’t be back until Wednesday. Not very long, but the fact is I rarely sleep without him. We have this standing agreement that I won’t ever have to, and where he goes I go too. To ensure myself of his good behaviour I casually told him not to do anything I wouldn’t so.
“Sure I won’t”.
“And no prostitutes”.
“Ok then”, he says reluctantly.
“No girls or women at all. No katoys or cross dressed men either for that matter”. I want to ensure that there are no options left. The next few days of his life will be that of an eunuch.
“Honey, I promise. No prostitutes until the company is up and running.”

If he as much as dare...





from my bedroom window

A balancing act

My cold is getting worse. I’ve been raiding the cupboard for anything that will relieve a sore nose and throat. From cough medicine, citrosan, and tracitol, to strepsils and vitamin C, in short I’m overdosing on on pills and medicines. But so far the results are not in a hurry.

Today was a particular busy day, when I least needed it. Although having spent most of the day in bed, it’s been a non-stop emailing, and cleaning up inboxes (I have 4!) I need to be more synchronised. Victoria has an assignment for school - Computer Games. Even though spending what seems like entire days playing games, she has a hard time finding information. It annoys the hell out of me, and it ends up in tears. I ignore it (my by now infamous Swedish attitude as Reinout calls it). Victoria runs downstairs and come up with Reinout in tow. “What the f*ck is going on?”. I hastily end a skype call with a good friend I haven’t spoken to for in months. Typical, the one time I have time to catch up with friends I get interrupted. But the focus shifts swiftly from skype call to Victoria. An animated conversation breaks out.

I don’t have much to add, but the message is clear. Victoria is not taking her school-work seriously and expects others to do the work for her. But the conversation pays off. 4 hours later she has two pages. It’s a good start.

I feel relieved and turn my attention to the next chore, laundry and ironing. I finished it all half an hour ago. Finally some time to relax.



housewife....moi?

light morning dark thoughts

A good night’s sleep can only be summed up in one word...bliss! I don’t know if it was the ghostly presence of one of the spirits we have milling around us (we have apparently three according to my husband), or Lola’s gentle purr thought the night, but I slept like a log. No strange or eerie dreams plagued my nocturnal hours either. This is going in the right direction.

The last hour has been spent trailing through the news. I’m very much a person of rhythm. I do things in a certain order, to create order and structure to a more and more un-orderly world around me. On Sundays I read Aftonbladet, Expressen and DN (three Swedish newspapers) followed the British tabloid News of the World. It’s an interesting sequence as DN is (seen as) a liberal, centre right newspaper, with well balanced journalism. News of the World couldn’t be more further away. Whilst DN will be publishing non-controversial debate articles, News of The World will cater for the masses. There is hardly an ounce of political or worldly news (which is a paradox giving its name). Instead kiss-and-tell stories are making front page along with articles on human deprivation.

Reinout’s CEO, Simon, who was on a lengthy skype call this morning, was rolling his eyes in mock horror at the fact I was reading the News of the World. I must have shattered his illusions of the classy girl from Sweden that enjoys soirees, interior design and history in equal measures. But there is a dark side to my light and seemingly happy nature. The dark side delves deep into human misery, deprivation and despair. Not to mock, but to understand and explore...often my own darker feelings and thoughts. I kept those little hobbies to myself for a long time, only being drawn out by the equally disposed. It takes one to know one. The dark siders are all among us and we sense each other. We seek each other out, but don’t necessarily interact. We know of each other, but often we like to keep it that way......on a safe distance. So we are left lonely, with our dark thoughts obscured by our perfect lives.

I can't help but wonder, do I live with a dark sided person? I think I do. It flairs up from time to time, in looks and expressions. And sometimes in a certain raw, yet controlled, energy. I believe we all have it within us. The only difference being how we chose to act upon it.

the un-easy way

Saturdays used to me a day of at least moderate rest. Slow wake up at 10.30 followed by coffee, news, brunch in town around 13.00, a little bit of shopping, home at 4 o’clock, read a book, watch a film, dinner and a movie. Sounds perhaps boring, but this was my ideal Saturday, no I stand corrected, my usual Saturday which I had no complains over what so ever. But times are different alas. A Saturday looks more like this now... wake up at 8.45 by the dogs running riot through the house. Cecile aka the Devil, will start banging the door with her paws until someone can’t stand it any longer and will rush to give her immediate attention. That someone is usually me. The fact that you just want to strangle her completely escapes her as she wags her tails and bats her eyelids oblivious to my feelings....she is a woman after all, and knows all the tricks in the world to seduce.

At this point the whole house is awake, and the one least of all happy is my other half. I notice this from his short replies and looks that could kill, literally. My female talents are perhaps not as well developed as Cecile’s but apt enough to understand that some tender, love and care is needed. So I run downstairs to make a perfect cappuccino. He accepts......for now. Phew I’m off the hook for another half an hour, and enjoy my own coffee which has now gone lukewarm.
News are nothing to write home about, so after 30 minutes of uninspirational reading I hit the shower. In half an hour I have an appointment for my facial, but I manage to make a second cappuccino to appease my husband. It works...or at least so I think.

Dash off for my facial, which at this point I’m in desperate need of. 15 minutes later I’m all tucked up to the sound of dolphins. I’ve waited for this moment all day and it’s only 10.30!
Home at 12.30 I find my husband in a better mood. He is smoking a cigar and playing with the dogs. He has discovered that Cecile can in fact break-dance, with a little bit of help. He spins her around on her back, over and over. It looks worse than it is, because she’s coming back for more. “It’s good for her. It will only make her feisty to the other dogs”. I get the mental image of Cecile turning into a pitbull. The potential is certainly there.

Ah well, I’m starving , so I get Victoria all dressed to hit town... It’s windy, cold, and in fact snowing. The cold is penetrating my bones, and I can’t button my jacket (I’m too big!). After the 5th shop I’m running out of energy and from there on it’s downhill. By the time we’re are about to turn back home, my energy levels are in free fall. Victoria notice, because I give her the look. The same look that Reinout gave this morning...the only difference being it took me about 6 hours to work it up. Reinout has a natural talent.

Back at home, Reinout is all cosy with a friend. My company is not desired. I try to win them over with some filled speculaas (gingerbread)...it’s homemade I point out. No interest. At this point I’m so fed up I go upstairs and crash.
I just woke up....



waking up to a snowy garden



Pregnancy glow (after facial)

An erotic encounter

Despite having bought a Vanity Fair, to endure my trip back home, I’m drawn to a woman opposite me. In fact she caught my attention before having actually seen her, her perfume announcing her entrance. Like a veil it surrounded her and I imagine she seduced my fellow passengers too with her presence. I know it, because it is my perfume – Fracas. The train was neither empty nor full, as we were waiting for the train to embark. She took the seat opposite me. I glanced at her and smiled, which she returned.....cautiously.

It was difficult to determine her age, she could have been in her late 20’s but equally in her early 40’s. One really couldn’t tell. Her manners were impeccable, placing her birkin bag next to her as in order not to let anyone in on her personal space. I wondered why she didn’t take a taxi, she looked rather out of place although she didn’t really seem to mind. She took up a brown, leather clad diary and started taking notes, her long legs crossed in an inverted V, leaning slightly towards the aisle. I looked around and noted other people had noticed her too. The Dutch are in general rather blunt, so to my surprise people were in fact not staring directly, but rather discretely. It was as if her appearance and demeanor demanded a certain respect, which she must have been used to getting. And people took notice.

As I was sitting there, the few minutes I had her in my presence before she stepped off at Amsterdam Sloterdijk, my mind started drifting to the type of life she was leading. Was she someone’s wife, lover? I imagined lover. In my mind I saw her in an expensive hotel room, unbuttoning her expensive silk blouse, then her pencil skirt, revealing black lace lingerie. La Perla or Aubade I thought. As I was daydreaming, the train slowed down to a grinding halt. The woman looked up until everyone getting off had passed her. Then she stood up, took her bag and left. I was in awe. For that moment I wished I was her. I looked out of the window to catch a glimpse of her a last time but she was already gone.

There are 6.7 billion people on this earth. All with their unique lives and destinies. Sometimes our paths will cross, if only for a fleeting moment. The impact of those moments having the power to change our lives forever......without us even knowing it...




My Vanity Fair and a box of Ferrero Rocher, a peace offering to Reinout...

dreams and sleepless nights

From early morning until now, I’ve been trawling the net for good site designs. I’m exhausted, and as I got a lousy 4 hours sleep last night, I am desperate to catch some sleep. Hopefully this night will not generate any strange dreams like last, when I woke up in the middle of the night convinced that there was a rat crawling up in the corner of the room, next to the mirror. Reinout calming me down didn’t really help, and for what seem like several long minutes, I stared myself blind on the spot checking if there was no creepy animal lurking about.

Being the avid researcher that I am I did some research on dreams in pregnancy. As it turns out vivid and often crazy dreams are quite the norm during pregnancy because of increased progesterone and increased awakenings from dream-filled REM (rapid eye movement) sleep. It is suppose to symbolize your excitement, fear, and apprehension about the physical and emotional changes happening to you.

Well, dreams or no dreams, I’m off to bed...Goodnight!

Is money really the root of all evil?

There is one thing that men and women can’t agree on – money. Is this a relative new phenomena or has it been like this since time of dawn? Are men born with a running calculator adding up every shoe, handbag and piece of fashionable garment that women purchase? Some men may turn a blind eye, in so many ways they won’t ask where that new coat suddenly came from. As long as the bills are paid, the status quo remains. Other men can be fooled, but only by tricks and deceits. One I must admit I have employed myself in the past is hiding the purchase for a few weeks until the coast is clear. When asked if the Burberry shoes were new, I could with clear conscience reply ‘no’.

So far so good. But not all men are like that. Take my husband who I love dearly. He has a sixth sense for sniffing out my purchases. In this case no hidings or obscuring the truth with a little white lie will stop him. He sniffs it out like a bloodhound with a build in GPS. And when the truth comes out there is no turning back. I have to atone for my sins, and in some cases, I’ve raided my cupboard and jewellery box to amend my mistakes and repay some of the ‘debts’ I have incurred on our account. The jewellery box scenario is not something to recommend, but it did happen. And Reinout, my then to be husband, had to go back to the store owner and literally threaten him to get back the heirlooms. Out he came, with my rings plus a candlestick holder that he took fancy of.

Such is the life of the Waldau-te Brake’s...

Truce?

Food for thought

Dinners are perfect ways of getting to know people. Instead of inviting someone over for an afternoon job interview, invite them over for dinner. The devil is in the detail, and the details accumulated paint the picture. It can be daunting, especially for the one invited, but it also creates a perfectly relaxed atmosphere putting everyone at ease. Today was one of those dinners at our home. I can’t say what the outcome will be, but the subject in question fitted perfectly in with our soirée of friends. As the evening progressed, so did the wine and conversation, and we were all pretty eager to share our knowledge of history trivia. I must confess I’m quite a history buff, and on top of this extremely competitive. I was in fact one of those terribly annoying kids in school, sitting on front row and waving my hand for the teacher to take notice. This infantile behaviour makes its comeback now and then, especially when it comes to games and discussions. I completely lunge myself at the subject, dissecting every little detail, until my guests become utterly bored or confused, or in some cases both.

Fortunately there were more than one history buff at the table, and so I was in good company. If it was up to me, he’s hired!



dinner leftovers