Hand

When somewhat longer than a year ago I visited him in hospital, I held his bony hand in my hand.
The hand that had held me so often, now lay vulnerably on the hospital sheet.
I still miss it, his hand, his joy when he saw or heard us, his true concern, his happiness because of our happiness, his almost natural presence.
Still my eyes get wet when I think of those autumn days of last year, still I get weak when I think of my brother's farewell words: 'Goodbye granddad. Have a safe journey home.'

So close and yet so far

Last week I spent two days in Amsterdam.
I had a long and interisting talk with Aidan Chambers, about his new novel This is all.
I saw a glimpse of the proofs of the new and very intriguing book of Ted van Lieshout.
I enjoyed the panoramic view on the seventh floor of the Oba, the new Amsterdam library.
I got annoyed by the uninspired speech of the head of the Oba.
I enjoyed the sparkling interview Edward van de Vendel had with Aidan Chambers.
I drank nice wine, talked to old acquaintances and new people.
I slept in a house full of memories.
I read letters of Lytton Strachey.
I had breakfast with a precious friend.
I walked along the canals in the brisk morning air.
I had a long talk with Marit Törnqvist on her memories of Astrid Lindgren.
I went for a stroll in the nine streets.
I ate pasta and a nice salad in La Ruche and wondered about so much healthy food in a selfservice restaurant.
I walked through the Bijenkorf, saw beautiful things but did not like the thought of an even heavier case.
I bought nice chocolates.
I went for another walk alongside the canal.
I did not go to the Rijksmuseum to take a look at my favourite Rembrandt.
I did not visit Athenaeum.
I did not have dinner a meal with a beloved friend at Prego's.
I did not buy a cake at Pompadour's.
I did not have a walk in the Jordaan, looking for a nice place to eat.
I did not visit the English Bookshop.
I did not have dinner at Toscanini's.
I did not buy beautiful paper, notebooks and diaries at Cortina's.
I did not visit bookshop Vrolijk.
I did not look for beautiful old stuff at the Noordermarkt.
I have to go back.
I have to.