Opa's oude blog in een nieuw jasje

Hallo Robin, hallo Rune

Er ging dus iets vreselijk mis. Had ik me daar een heel verhaal zitten tikken, als eerste post in een hopelijk lange serie nieuwe blog posts, en had ik hem met succes gepost, en toen zag ik dus een type foutje dat ik wel even snel zou herstellen (alsof jullie dat ook maar iets kan schelen) en toen deed Opa Pias dus iets heel doms want nu ben ik die hele blog post kwijt.

Gelukkig heb ik nog tijd, energie, voldoende Bacardi-Cola binnen handbereik en lekkere 'chill music' uit de 50er en 60er jaren op de stream, dus beginnen we gewoon opnieuw!

Opa Pias heeft eens keihard geblazen. Daarmee blies ik het stof af van mijn oude blog 'Letters to Robin' die inmiddels een beetje bloedarmoede vertoonde. Er is natuurlijk inmiddels ook wel iets veranderd: naast kleinzoon nr. 1 Robin, is er nu kleinzoon nr. 2 Rune. Dus wil Opa Pias niet alleen meer aan Robin schrijven maar aan Robin en Rune en wie jullie later ook nog als broertjes of zusjes of neefjes of nichtjes mogen verwelkomen. Voor allemaal hoop ik Opa Pias te zijn. En voor allemaal is deze blog bestemd.

Rune, even een woordje uitleg waar de titel 'Opa Pias' vandaan komt. Het auteursrecht daarvoor is stevig in handen van je neefje Robin. Die had eens toen ik op bezoek was last van zijn 'gekke 5 minuten' en toe maakte ik de fout door tegen hem te zeggen, dat hij niet 'de Pias moest uithangen'. Dat vond hij zo'n leuke uitdrukking dat hij niet meer bijkwam. Sindsdien noemt hij mij consequent 'Opa Pias' en inmiddels is dat een naam geworden die ik eigenlijk wel wat vind hebben. Ik beschouw het als een ere-titel. Kijk, zijn andere Opa (de vader van Tante Suzanne) gaat voor Robin door het leven als 'Opa Peugeot', al om even logische Robin-redenen. Dus ik ben al lang blij dat ik niet als 'Opa Mitsubishi' bekend sta.

Dus Opa Pias is tevreden om Opa Pias te zijn. Of Oma Pias er ook blij mee is, dat ze daardoor 'by default' als 'Oma Pias' door het leven moet, dat moet Oma jullie zelf maar eens vertellen. Maar volgens mij vindt ze het niet echt erg.

Met deze blog willen we af en toe eens verhaaltjes of wijsheden of onwijsheden met jullie delen, om uiting te geven aan onze gevoelens, om tot uiting te brengen hoe veel we van jullie houden en hoe graag we jullie zien. We wonen nogal ver weg, en daarom zien we jullie veel minder dan jullie andere Opa en Oma en daar zijn we eigenlijk best wel een beetje verdrietig om soms. En dan is zo' blog (of blok??) een aardige manier om ons daar overheen te zetten en als het ware virtueel jullie op onze schoot te nemen en met jullie praten zoals we graag 'live' zouden willen doen.

Door middel van deze blog willen we af en toe grappige, ontroerende of bijzondere gebeurtenissen met jullie delen, zodat jullie Opa en Oma Pias toch goed zullen kennen, ondanks de afstand.  Het zal nog wel even duren voor jullie zelf deze blog kunnen lezen, en tot die tijd moeten jullie pappa en mamma jullie maar af en toe deze blog posts voorlezen. Maar jullie groeien allebei zo hard en zijn allebei zulke kanjers, dat het vast niet lang zal duren voor jullie zelf kunnen inloggen op deze blog en niet alleen kunnen lezen maar zelfs een commentaar kunnen achterlaten.

Dus laten we zeggen dat Opa's oude blog in een nieuw jasje het begin kan zijn van een lange serie waarmee wij hopen dat jullie er net zo veel plezier aan zullen beleven om hem te lezen als wij hebben om hem te schrijven.

Een dikke knuffel voor jullie allebei, Robin en Rune, van Opa en Oma Pias.

Incarceration in the Vatican

Hi little fellow

It's been a while. Granddad has been a busy man lately... Lots of travel and important meetings with important people or with people who think they are important. And all the time you keep on growing up, and I keep up missing it. Life sucks.

Guess what? I spent a few days more or less 'incarcerated' inside the Vatican for a meeting. Of course, being only 16 months, you probably have no idea what the Vatican is.


The Vatican - see the map above - is probably the smallest country in the world (unless there is somehwere a tiny island state in the vast Pacific Ocean that I have overlooked) and it is sitting in the middle of Rome in Italy. It is an independent state. It has an offical Head of State, who they call the Pope. It has Ministries, which they call Dicasteries. It has Ambassadors in practically every country in the world, who they call Nuncio's. It even has its own army, which is called the Swiss Guard. Okay, they look a bit funny and carnavalesque in their uniforms (see below), but trust me, they mean business!



Apart from being this tiny little country, the Vatican is also the global 'headquarters'of the Catholic Church. It is basically a bunch of buildings spread out around a humungus big church, the St. Peters Basilica. My meeting was in one of those buildings, the Domus Sancta Martha, or St, Martha's Palace. Together with the other people participating in this meeting, this is also where we were housed and where we were fed. You will find it indicated on the map above, right at the bottom and more or less in the middle. That was my 'guilded cage' for a couple of days in early May. To get in there you have to pass different check points manned by the Swiss Guard and by the Italian Carabinieri (police)

The Vatican is first and foremost a very serious place, with lots of serious people. There is not a lot of partying or tomfoolery going on in there, trust me... It is also an awe-inspiring place. You can't help being impressed. Everything is so big. The square in front of St. Peter's Basilica can contain close to 400,000 people or so I have been told. There is a meeting aula where there are seats for 15,000 people. There are literally hundreds of statues all over the place, on tops of buidlings, in wall recesses, on the ground, on pillars, you name it. Most of all, however, it is a place where you feel that history has been made and history is still being made. I like that.

Needless to say I was quite happy to be let out again after a few days and rejoin the sinful secular world. Besides, the weather in Rome was too nice to stay cooped up inside too long, no matter how impressive the surroundings.

And I knew that after returning home, I would be seeing you again, my little man!

Granddad Faraway

The wedding!

Hey Robin

It's been a while since I got around to writing to you in this blog. I've been a bit busy, you know. Firsat there was this wedding of your undle Alex and your lovely Auntie T. What a splendid affair! The weather was glorious, the atmosphere brilliant, the bride AND the groom were beautiful, your grandma was her radiant self and the party and especially the after-party brunch were not to be missed.

They say that a picture paints a thousand words, and so here is THE picture that for me sums it all up!

The only things that I wished would have been different were:

a) We all missed you!
b) Your Dad was in a heap of pain on account of his back problem

Of course, the picture of a happy bunch of Wanders's should also have pride of place here, so here goes:

See what's missing in this picture? Yup, my laddie, YOU are missing in this picture! The troop is not entirely complete. I promise you, next family wedding, you'll be there, my boy, with bells on!

Meanwhile, your uncle and now official aunt are on their honeymoon. They flew to San Francisco on Monday 27 April and rented a car to visit all kinds of wonderful places like Yosemite National Park, Death Valley, Las Vegas, Boulder Dam, the Grand Canyon and much more. Too bad your uncle Alex has had some unfortunate drinving incidents. First he backed his Dodge Avenger rental car into a truck in Yosemite Park. Nobody was hurt but the rental car was pretty damaged and Uncle Alex is a tiny bit nervous about the insurance cover. A day later he was caught speeding by one of those American traffic cops and he came to within an inch of getting a hefty fine, but the guy was not a nazi after all and let him off with a stern warning. At present your uncle and aunt are colling their heels in one of those Vegas casino hotels and they have blown two whole dollars in the slot machines. Talk about high rollers.

Meanwhile your old granddad has also not been sitting still. After dropping off Alex and Troeke at the airport in Brussels in Monday (where they arrived pretty late courtesy of extensive road works near Antwerp) I had something else to do on Monday afternoon and the flew to Prague on Tuesday morning. There was a big conference taking place there. Lots of nice and smart people but it was a bit long and I only returned tonight. This explains why there has been a bot of a radio silence on this blog.

Not any more! I am back in town and blogging like a madman. But most of all, I would so much like to see you, kid! So if your mom and dad are OK with it, grandma and I want to come and admire you this weekend. If not, we will do it next weekend. Who knows we may be taking uncle Oscar and auntie Helene with us.
Your Dad made a great new blog about you with all kinds of cute pictures. This is the one I like best, but there are tons more.

Looking forward to seeing you soon, kiddo. Meanwhile, watch this space!

Big hug from Granddad Faraway

Working weekend

Hey Robin, you gorgeous little man! Greetings from Granddad the Writer


It is now past midnight on Sunday night and Granddad is looking back on a most productive writing weekend. And this in spite of his respectable age. But when it comes to creative writing, your granddad is a diesel that has just warmed up and has no intention of stopping any time soon.

So I got up to all kinds of creative writing. And most of it was somehow connected with the wedding next Friday 24th April of your Uncle Alex and your Auntie T. You know, the party that you are NOT invited to (Mean old Granddad just loves to rub salt into open wounds...)

Anyway, I wrote this short and somewhat 'spiritual' speech that I have been asked to give in the Church. Actually, I am pretty darn pleased with that one, if I may say so myself. There is some real good stuff in there, but I won't go into details because your Uncle Alex and your Auntie T are also reading this blog and we don't want them to know the content of what I will say during the Church service, now do we? That would spoil the surprise. Suffice to say that I suspect there will not be a dry eye in the house. Break out the Kleenex, boys and girls...

Then we had to write down what kind of animal your Uncle Alex is. You see, the nice lady of the city hall who will perform the civil wedding ceremony wanted to have the juice on him. She has know Auntie T from the day Auntie T was born, being a good friend of Auntie T's parents. So Antie T is an open book for her. But your Uncle Alex is more of a mystery to her (come to think of it, not only to her...) and so she needed some inside information as ammunition for HER official speech. Of course, I first dutifully consulted your Grandma (it is ALWAYS wise to 'dutifully consult' your Grandma, Robin, on any given topic... take my word for that) and benefiting from her kaleidoscopic knowledge of her own sons, I wrote another piece, describing the weird and wonderful personality of your Uncle Alex. So I am now also become an unoffical (and in any case unpaid) speech writer for the officer in charge of marrying people at the city hall of the fair city of 's Hertogenbosch (or Den Bosch for short). Great, I can start a career as a speech writer...

As if that wasn't enough, I then produced a poem.... a POEM, for Chrissakes. That also has something to do with the wedding, but the rest of the information is classified.

To top it all off, I wrote a 35-page Annual Report for Caritas, the place where I work. It is needed by tomorrow, so Granddad rolled up his sleeves and produced the Mother of all Annual Reports...

Then I thought I was done writing... but what the heck, I might still go on while I am hot and write another letter to Robin as well. So here you are, kid.

Remind me that one of the first things I want to teach you, laddie, is how to mix the perfect Bacardi & Coke in order to quench the thirst of your too creative Granddad.

Love you, kid. Too bad Ajax got the shit kicked out of them today and will NOT be this year's champions. Your Dad will be totally sick about that, so better be nice to him...

Big hug from

Granddad Faraway

In charge of the remote control

Robin,

You are truly amazing! I am sure you are not the first 15-months old kid that likes to push buttons on a TV remote control.

But what sets you completely apart from other would-be zappers in your age group is that you actually understand what you are doing! Cause and consequence and all that stuff!

I think anyone would be hard put to find another 15 month old kid who KNOWS that the grey coloured remote serves to switch on the TV (and that to do that you need to push that green button and nothing else), while after that you need the other black coloured remote to switch on the digital TV decoder and then zap with the '+' or '-' buttons until you hit the baby channel. And yet, that's what you do. I am totally impressed, Robin!




And not only do you already know the 'technicalities' of TV remote controles, you are also accutely aware of 'TV remote etiquette' and the time honoured traditions and role models that relate to this instrument. As demonstrated by the picture above, when it comes to remote controls, it is the MEN among us who handle that thing, and the WOMEN (like your cousin Maud) stand respectfully back. She may be an older woman, Robin, but when it comes to control over the remote control, she instinctively KNOWS that you are a MAN not to be trifled with!

Granddad is proud, Robin!

Hugs from

Granddad Faraway

Opa en Oma 'on their way'...

Hey Robin

WE KOMEN ER AAN!!

Die 220 kilometer tussen Wolvertem en Hoofddorp zullen voorbij vliegen!

Tot straks!

Opa Verweg (die straks dichtbij zal zijn!)

The Fifth Commandment

Hola Robin

Has anyone already told you what the Ten Commandments are? I guess not.

To make a long story short, they are 10 basic life rules, given by God to His people, that some man called Moses brought down from some mountain a few thousands of years ago, chiseled into two stone tablets. According to the famous Dutch painter Rembrandt van Rijn, this is what that scene must have looked like.




Today I just want to give you five good reasons why the fifth out of those ten commandments makes excellent sense.

The fifth commandment is: 'Honor your father and your mother.'

This makes good sense for - among others - the following five reasons:

1. You are 50% your mom and 50% your dad. And since you are pretty amazing, they must be twice as amazing, each one of them. That's pure mathematic logic. So being amazing people, they fully deserve to be honoured, right?
   
2. Your mother is awesome: She carried you inside her body and under her heart for 9 months, she feeds you, she clothes you, she nurses you when you are sick, she comforts you when you are afraid, she consoles you when you are sad. And all of that without ever asking something in return other than the occasional kiss or hug. And given that she is in any case a very good looking lady, that shouldn't be too much of a sacrifice, right?
   
3. Your father is pretty cool too: He decorated the room in which you sleep, he makes sure that you can't stick metal hairpins in electric sockets or fall of the stairs, he teaches you how to use the TV remote control, he carries you around on his neck so you can look out over the crowd and he even lets you punch him in the nuts without getting mad or getting even.
   
4. Your mother will make sure that you will grow up to be a good boy, who knows right from wrong; she will instill in you respect and appreciation for people (and especially for girls), animals, plants and all other things living, big or small. She will be the source of most of your wisdom.
5. Your father will make sure that you are well protected and that you can protect yourself; he will teach you all those important practical skill sets such as using a computer, playing football, riding a bicycle, driving a car etc. He will be the source of most of your skills.

So there you have it, Robin. Just five simple reasons why the Fifth Commandment makes sense. Of course there should have also been an Eleventh Commandment: 'Honour your grandfather and grandmother'. But they forgot to put that in. Well, I guess you won't need any Commandment to do that anyway, will you?

See you tomorow, kiddo!

Granddad Faraway

About Easter eggs and bunnies

Happy Easter, dear Robin!

Today is Easter Sunday and I am sure that today you are likely to be confronted with loads of Easter eggs and an Easter bunny or two. There is no escaping that reality. These eggs (often in a chocolate variety) and that bunny are symbols for Easter.


Okay, I see by the puzzled look on your face, that I have totally lost you already... Perhaps I should today try to explain to you the relevance and meaning of this day and the relationship of these symbols with this day of celebration.

Easter is an important annual religious feast within Christianity. It is when Christians remember and celebrate the resurrection of Jesus from the dead on the third day after his crucifixion. It is a celebration of the rebirth of Christ, so to speak.

It's up to you, Robin, to make up your own mind about believing tin his or not. Personally, I happen to be a Christian and a believer, but I do not wish to impose those beliefs on you. As you grow up, you will come to decisions of what you choose to believe in and what not in your own good time.

With regard to origin of the name the name Easter (in the English language), it has been suggested that the word Easter may originate from a pagan fertility goddess called Eostre or Oestre.

The same pagan heritage can be used to explain the relevance of a rabbit and eggs to Easter. In early history, even before the time of Christ, the early pagan populations in Europe celebrated spring festivals. There were fertility festivals celebrating the renewal of life in the earth after the snows of winter. Eggs and chicks represent new life, rabbits are known for having many babies.

The following quotations are taken from an old book, "The Most Useful KNOWLEDGE for the Orthodox Russian-American Young People" compiled by the Very Rev'd Peter G. Kohanik, 1932-1934. Okay, it IS a bit 'dated' but it was the best I could find and it seems quite logical.

"During Easter Day the egg stands as symbol of the resurrection of Christ, and is universally used as means of Christian greeting and present. The symbolical and church significance of the egg has its roots in the greatest antiquity. Long before Christianity, all the cultured nations of antiquity held the egg to be the symbol of life in all their beliefs and customs.

According to heathen cosmogonies, the original world’s chaos was contained in an egg, which broke into two halves, the one forming the sky and the other the earth. Out of the lower part of the egg came Mother Earth. Out of the upper part of the egg arose the high vault of the sky.

There exisits a tradition which makes Mary Magdalene to be the originator of the custom of using red eggs on Easter day. After the Ascension of our Saviour, Mary Magdalene went to Rome to preach the Gospel and, appearing before the Emporer Tiberius, she offered him a red egg, saying: CHRIST IS RISEN.” Thus was begun her preaching.

Learning about this offering of Mary Magdalene, the early Christians imitated her, presenting each other with eggs. Hence, eggs began to be used by Christians in the earliest centuries as a symbol of the Resurrection of Christ and of the regeneration of Christians for a new and a better life along with it.

The custom of presenting each other with red eggs was familiar to the Christians of the earliest Universal Church. The red color, which generally is used for Easter eggs, serves to remind us of the precious blood of God the Redeemer, which was shed on the cross for the salvation of all men. The blessing of the eggs takes place after the morning Easter service.

The breaking of the lenten fasting on Easter Sunday begins with eating the blessed eggs."

Sounds pretty logical and comprehensive, doesn't it, Robin? Robin???

Mmm... you must have fallen asleep... Probably ate too many chocolate Easter eggs already!

Anyway, Happy Easter, kid! Enjoy the eggs and the bunny!

Love from
Granddad Faraway

Lessons in Essential Dutchness

Dear Robin,

Perhaps you do not yet realise this - after all you are not yet even 16 months old - but you are Dutch, laddie. And being Dutch has implications. I would miserably fail my obligations as your grandfather, if I did not enlighten you about what being Dutch implies, quite apart from living in the most beautiful country in the world.



There are implications of being Duch that are gender neutral (meaning they apply to Dutcheroo's and to Dutcherina's alike) and there are some additional implications that hold true particularly - if not exclusively - for the male variety of that remarkable species.

Let's start with the general stuff:

Being a Dutch person (male or female) means that you are supposed to:

1. Be highly opinionated, fairly blunt and pretty damn sure of yourself and always have the last word, preferrably a sarcastic one
2. Passionately dislike and distrust Germans and consistently piss them off and pick a fight with them at every available opportunity
3. Studiously ignore the French, even while on holiday there (a favourite expression of Dutch tourists is: France is a great country. Too bad there are so many Frenchmen living there...)
4. Learn to ride a bicycle before the age of 3. As you grow into your teens, you will futher develop the skill of stealing someone else's bicycle as the logical reaction to discovering that your own has been stolen as well... Some smart university student once promoted on a research proving that if you wait long enough, your original own bicycle will invariably come back to you after (on average) 349,456 years, having been stolen and subsequently lost again by about every other bicycle owner in the country. It's called 'ownership rotation system'...
5. Learn to ice skate by the age of 4, preferably on frozen lakes or canals, and preferably covering riduclously long distances
   
6. Develop a taste for raw herring, covered in onion chips, which you MUST eat in the only socially acceptable way in Holland: On the street, cocking your head way back, holding the herring by the slippery tail, dangling it right above your wide open mouth and letting it slide straight down your throat
7. Live in a house where you spend a small fortune on expensive designer curtains, which you subsequently NEVER close, because otherwise passers-by who are walking their dogs can't see and be suitably impressed by or envious of the big flat screen TV that you have recently bought
8. Go on holiday all over Europe by car, dragging a humungus big caravan behind you

Being a Dutch boy, however, carries with it some additional 'essential Dutchness' requirements and obligations. As a Dutch boy, Robin, you are supposed to:

1. Play football (and I mean the variety that Americans call 'soccer', not that sissy sport of theirs where they wear shoulder and crotch padding and helmets, for Chrissakes...) and make sure you look good in an orange coloured shirt. This is a non-negotiable requirement, especially with a Dad and a grandfather like yours
2. Be the self-appointed personal and expert advisor to the unlucky devil who happens to be the coach of the Duch national football team and who simply doesn't 'get it'... Holland is the only country in the world where the entire male population is made up of 8 million qualified national coaches
3. Stick your finger in a hole in a dyke (and I don't mean the variety that would subsequently clobber you over the head with her handbag...) because that is what legend expects little Dutch boys to do
4. Pretend to ignore the fact that - as a species - your female counterparts (Dutch girls) are generally considered to be among the most beautiful in the world and pretend that you really couldn't care less (this is called the 'essential coolness' of being a Duch boy)
5. Be devoted and especially nice and kind to your mother, because not only does she have to deal with YOU, she also has to deal with your DAD, and two Dutch boys are more than any woman could possibly be expected to cope with

So there you have it, Robin, the secrets of your 'essential Dutchness'. Remember this simple little checklist of requirements and expectations, and you will fit right in.

Now be a good lad and get me a beer and a herring, will you?

Hugs from

Granddad Faraway

Stuck in the sixties

Hi Robin

It's time you are informed about a horrible truth about your old granddad. It's better you get it from me, from the horse's mouth so to speak, then from someone else.

Culturally speaking, I am stuck in the sixties. There, that's the turd in the tomato soup. That's the horrific little secret that has been the subject of an elaborate cover up among family and friends. But there should be no secrets between you and me, kid.

You see, the sixites was a wonderful era. Geopolitically speaking, it was the simplest of times. There were good guys (us) and there were bad guys (the Russki's). That was simple. You could understand that even if you had a brain the size of a peanut. On the good guy side you had people like John F. Kennedy, Martin Luther King and Mahatma Ghandi. On the bad guy side, you had Nikita Chroutshev (or however it was spelled), Mao Tze Dung and a bunch of other commies. In Berlin, they built a wall: on one side of it were the good guys, on the other side of it were the bad guys. Simple!

In the sixties, NATO was not yet a four letter word. In the sixties, there was no terrorism and the term Al Qaeda at best conjured up associations with some strange form of mathematics. In the sixties, the good guys as well as the bad guys had nuclear missiles pointed at each other with such a devastation potential that the world's population could be anihilated 10 time over. But the people with their hands on the button were smart enough not to use them. Of course, there was that nasty business in Vietnam, but that was far away and we were told it was for a good cause... by politicians that somehow we could believe in.

Most of all, though, the sixties was love, rock and roll and shaking your fist at the establishment. The sixties was Elvis Presley, Marilyn Monroe, the Beatles, Mary Quant, Twiggy, mini-skirts and Eurovision song contests where people actually could sing and no Eastern European vote rigging occurred.

Can you imagine that in the sixties youngsters like your grandfather did not have computers, the internet, cell phones, iPods? Just how lame were we? But funnily enough, we DID communicate. Young peole actually wrote each other good old fashioned letters, with an actual pen on actual paper, and with words spelled out in full, not mutilated to expressions like 'C U L8TER'. And we had actual CONVERSATIONS with other young people. We were interested in them. They were interested in us. Friendship still meant something.

As Dutchies, in the sixties our sporting ambitions were also a tad more modest than they are these days: Dutch football fans were already ecstatic if our national team won at least one of its semi-annual friendly matches against Belgium... against BELGIUM, for the love of God! And the harvest of one single bronze medal at the Olympics for something vague like clay pigeon shooting was cause for mass hysteria, state sponsored celebrations, a polonaise in the garden of the Royal Palce (with the old Queen leading the parade) and the inevitable knighthood and a celebration tour in a horse drawn carriage for the lucky winner of that single bronze medal.

Because I liked the sixties so much, I got stuck in them, culturally speaking at least. Don't take my word for it, check out my CD collection. And even now, with internet and limewire and downloaded music, what do I download? Yup, 'sixties stuff'.

If you want to truly understand what the sixties was all about, Robin, check out this video by Billy Connolly. He is of my generation. He was there like I was. He understands. As he says: It was amazing. We were teenagers when rock and roll was invented. We were the chosen ones!




I rest my case!

Hugs from

Granddad Faraway