dutch

Ah. We lost the World Cup to the Spanish. It was a sad day in soccer history, but I've learned to live with it by now. Between that, the signing of the contract - deed, whatever it's called - for the house (provided the mortgage comes through, we own a house! Yay!) and the chaos in my head, I haven't been able to squeeze out a meaningful blog post till now. But here I am!

Last Monday, my Moroccan friend N - she of the real Moroccan mint tea in my profile - naturalised to this frog country! Despite the sad soccer loss! She was so proud, I was so happy for her :)

Me & Squirt were there, applauding her and other applicants into the fold, listening to half-truths and flat-out lies about what it means to be Dutch. That's hindsight though. As it goes with these things, I was so sucked in at the time that I bellowed the National Anthem along with my new neighbours. Making sure not to look at the piece of paper seemingly lost for words, lest someone thought I was a Dutch soccer player. Actually, actually, for the first time ever I think, feeling traces of goosebumps. While singing the National Anthem. Yes. Ahem. But the moment passed and I'm fine. Dutch, but fine.

I was moved enough to pull out some of the culturally clichéd imagery to create an appropriate card of congratulations for N though. But only because I know she knows we don't all leave our windmills in the morning to walk the dikes wearing our wooden shoes, on our way to our day's work in the R.ed L.ight D.istrict. And we don't hang about picking tulips every day either! Just so you know!