One of the cool things about traveling in a country where you have roots is that even though everything is completely foreign (It will be a long time before Seth can forgive the Dutch Department of Transportation for the way they regulate their roads), you keep running into things that are very nearly the same.

 

Being products of Dutch immigrants in community, upbringing, and education, we were amused to see very familiar names popping up in slightly unfamiliar contexts.  For example, there are several Roozebooms at my parents' church, but I don't think any of them sell RVs. 

 

I bet the Dekkers that I went to high school with would be surprised to find out they have a whole land waiting for them over there.  How does one get a land named after one anyway?

The names weren't restricted to the Dutch.  I know some Havenses, and I believe they're Irish in their roots. But who knows why some names show up in foreign places? 

 

I mean really, who knows?  This sign says "100% Bob, 0% Op."  You know that you get if you run that through Google translator?  "100% Bob, 0% Op."  Not very helpful.  Still, Bob, here's looking at you. 

We found that a lot of our old friends have moved into logistics since we've seen them last.  I used to clean carpets under these people.

 

And Heather, if you ever get tired of the ministry, you could ask your relatives for a job. 

 

Even, look, right there?  Is it? Could it be?  Yep, Atsma shipping!  Or something like that. 

 I'm not sure what James and Alli have been doing in the great NL, but it looks pretty successful. 

  I learned a long time ago not to underestimate college professors, but dancing isn't the first thing that comes to mind when I think of Dr. Veenstra, my speech professor. 

 

And then there are those random names that you just have to take a picture of.  "Give it to us wrawwww and wriggling, and keep nasty chips." 

 Of course, if one is looking for familiar names (and by this point, we were.  It was just too good to resist.), the best place to look is a graveyard.  Here, on the headstones of Toppenhuizen and Utwellinga, I found a few old schoolmates. 

I even found that I might be distantly related to some of them.  Let's see.  If Seth's grandmother is a Wijnja, and Geertje Koopmans was born in 1908, that would put here about great-grandmother age to the Koopmans I went to highschool with, so what would that make us? 

When the Dutch hyphenate their last names, they put the husband's surname first so that husband and wife will still be alphabetical.  So Megan Fopma-DeGroot, it's been done once already. 

And here's another coincidence of last names that could be a double relation.  Seth is an Atsma (and this is certainly one of his family line because he's a Gerben.  Gerbens run in the family.  So do Ruurd's [see below]).  I have a cousin who married a De Jong. 

 

And my folks have been friends with De Jagers since before I was born. 

 If you'll look closely, you'll see a Postma, a Kok, a Broersma, a de Vries, a Hettinga, and a Veldhuisen.  Bingo!  My card's full. 

A few wry observations.

It's raining.  I have wet socks, wet boots, and a pair of wet jeans drying on the ricky-racky, and if my senses had been deceiving me, I've also read seven facebook posts and an email newsletter with notice to the same effect.  It's raining.  It's raining so hard that the rain-soaked people of Portland are actually cautioning each other to stay off the roads if possible. 

I would stay off the roads if I could, but it's the sidewalks that are proving hazardous.  Is there anything more miserable that taking out a dog to do his business and then discovering that in inclement weather of this ferocity, dogs prefer to hold it?  I remember last year when Boogaloo and I took Max for a walk and got soaked through, but that was her fault.  Today, the Boo had enough sense to say, "Stay home, Mommy," when I grabbed the leash, so I put in a movie and left her to it.  She's a very smart girl.  When she sees rain sheeting down the windows and tree branches slapping against the eaves, she figures she won't be very comfortable outside.

 Max is a pretty smart dog.  It didn't take much for him to come to the same conclusion.  However, there remains the fact that a dog's business needs to be done outside.  We tried hiding beneath the trees.  We tried stepping on the high spots made by the tree roots that were coming up through the pavement.  We tried using my umbrella.  Well, storm - 1, umbrella, boots, and jean - 0, dog - dilatory.  And it doesn't show any signs of letting up. 

On the way to the mailbox later in the afternoon, when the rain had subsided for a second, and the puddles were frantically draining while they had the chance,  I looked down into the gutter and saw a positive rainbow of maple leaves heaped against the curb.  The predominant leaf was a Japanese maple, which looks a bit like a starfish and a starfruit all at once.  Against the dark pavement under the clear water, the still vibrant fall colors still glowed with the sunlight they had been absorbing all year long.  It was kind of like looking into the kids pool at the aquarium if sea urchins and starfish could light themselves up.    At any rate, it was beautiful, and if I hadn't been outside, I wouldn't have seen it.  So there is the bright side for the day.

I have a husband again.

Seth came home last Saturday, and his presence is like oil on the gears. Suddenly there's another set of hands to help the Boo put in the movie she wants or to take the dog out.  Usually upon his homecoming, I have a struggle with myself when I let some of the responsibilities fall back on him.  Not this time.  This time, I was only too happy to realize that I didn't have to do everything on my daily to do list.  In fact, I actually had a chance to pick up a book and read for an hour today, and Seth looked at me and confessed that he actually doesn't know what all he's going to do for the rest of the week.  I think next week, when his full schedule kicks in, we'll find out how busy we're really going to be.   

It's amazing how much difference having my husband home makes in my outlook.  This week has not been pretty.  Monday was leading up to the election.  Tuesday was the election.  Wednesday morning we found out that we lost the election.  Then we found out our checking account and savings account were empty because Seth's travel expenses came through before his expense report did.  Normally, this would have sent me into a tailspin, and I'd be freaking out and jumping at my own shadow.  (Moms, we're okay.  Everything worked out fine. Praise God.)

However, having my husband home lifts me out of that any possibility of spiral.  His presence reminds me of the solid ground beneath my feet.  It gives me more than the ability to think and plan; I get a bouyancy that doesn't deflate.  I'm like a Weeble -- I wobble, but I don't fall down. 

Part of my mind says, "Really, God should do that for you. You shouldn't be dependent on the presence of your husband for mental and emotional bouyancy."  But God designed the family structure intentionally, and I fought it for a long time.  I spent a year and a half insisting that I didn't need a man, and God has used the past eight years to show me that yes, I do.  The way I need Seth is the way I need God, only smaller.  It in no way compromises my responsibilities or my capacities.  If anything, his presence enhances both.  With our family structure restored, I'm freed from all the worry and stress that came from doing what needed to be done, alone. 


Alone is one of the worst words in the English Lexicon in my opinion.  Lonely can have romantic connotations.  Lonesome is an insubstantial heart sound.  It can be wrapped around other thoughts or feelings.  It can be pushed away by work or company.  But  alone is the substance of walking into a house and being greeted by a silence that only you will break for the next three months.  Alone rips the ribs off your heart and leaves it exposed to all the elements as they come at you.  Alone means having no close equal, no constant witness, no designated partner for this project called life.  And Lord willing, I'll never have to face that feeling again. 

Now begins the new and more pleasant challenge of learning to live with the expectation of having my husband on a daily basis.  This is the first time in our married lives that we haven't had an imminent date of separation looming.  We have new schedules to balance (especially with the demise of my Buick), and obviously, we have to work on some communication skills, but I can sit at the dinner table and look into his eyes.  I can lie down in bed at night and think, "He was here today" and feel his warmth under the covers as confirmation. 

No longer do I have to store up family memories to share with him on his return.  He'll be here to make those memories with us.  In my mind's eye, holidays and summer vacations recede into the future like bright, golden memories uninterrupted by the prospect of deployment or training.  I tell you, it's a wonderful sight.