God loves ugly puppies?

a few years ago, just around the date of our wedding, my parents' dog got mange or some skin disease of the sort. she's a pug-poodle mix, and apparently poodles are genetically predisposed to skin diseases, result of years of inbreeding. the vet said that there was nothing he could do and she would end up suffering for quite a while before dying of some infection resulting from the disease. he suggested putting her down before it got to that point.

my youngest sisters love this fugly little beast and were, of course, very upset. mom suggested waiting till after our wedding, using the three weeks spent in Holland as time to get used to being away from her so they would be more ready to say goodbye when they got back. but one wise little sister scoffed "Oh you of little faith!", and the two girls proceeded to pray every day that their ugly little mangy dog would be healed.

would you believe it if i told you that the dog actually got better? her sores disappeared, her hair grew back, and she has not had skin problems since.

not funny.

I just remembered another time I was the only one that thought something was hilarious.

This was before we got married, three years ago. We had just rented an apartment. It needed quite a bit of fixing up. We were basically living at Luuk's parents' place, about 20 min away. Every night we could, we'd drive to our little place in The Hague to ready it for moving in in the next couple of weeks. That night we were going to start putting in floor boards in preparation for the cheapest decent-looking carpet we could find. Luuk's dad went with us. So, Luuk, his dad, and I jump in the car, drive all the way to the house, get there and all stand waiting at the door for one of the others to pull out their key to open it. We each have our own set. And we each forgot to take it with us.

I thought this was pretty damn funny. And I laughed. Hard. For a couple of seconds. Before I realized that the other two were both not amused. Pissed, in fact.

Yes, we had to drive back to get the keys. Yes, it was a waste of a good hour, and yes, we didn't have a whole lot of time to waste to get the place ready before the wedding. Yes, gas is expensive. Yes, the unnecessary two way trip back to their house to pick up the keys was going to cost us. And, yes, we should have checked if at least one of us had a key before we left.

But come on! That's worth laughing at, right?!

Inevitable?

I'm debating calling the latest place I've applied to. I know I should; it gives the impression that I am proactive and interested, and it's more personal than black 'Times New Roman' size 12 on a white page. But, the longer I let it sit, the longer I can think my resume is actually doing something all by itself and the longer I can think I have a shot at the job I applied for. And the longer I can feel satisfied with myself for having tried.

But, then again, the longer I wait, the less involved, proactive, and interested I seem. And the less likely I am to make a good impression. Or any impression of any sort. And the less likely I am to get hired. Thus, the more likely I am to feel dissatisfied in the end. And disappointed, again.

I guess I'll call.

Homesick.

Yesterday I had the pleasure of filling in at the "multi-culti" activity room at the old folks home, serving coffee for an hour. It's not really multi-culti, it's Marokkan. Just ladies; the men come on a different day. They greeted each other affectionately, stretching their hands out to each other and holding each other's face before planting a kiss on the other's cheek or forehead; this to each other woman in the room. Two of them spoke a little bit of really broken and difficult for a Dutch-as-a-third-language speaker to understand. Occasionally they would break in their converstation to say something like "So sorry, we speak Dutch for you. You cannot understand Arabic, eh?" And I'd smile and say something like "Oh, don't worry! I enjoy hearing you talk to each other." Which was true. This group is very unlike the Dutch ladies. They talk loudly, constantly, in and over each other's words, and laugh after every-other burst of rapid tongue-rolling pieces of speech. I immediately felt at home and realized that this was something I had missed for years and didn't know it. If they took off their headscarves and suddenly started speaking in Spanish, I would be back in Yucatán, listening to a conversation about a hundred equally unimportant and hilarious little things in life.

For the first time, a difference in my background and the Dutch culture became clear to me. I remembered a Christmas a few years ago when we had just finished decorating the tree at my in-law's and the tree fell over. I burst out laughing, and then realized I was the only one. A few of the decorations had broken, some were expensive and some had history. Of course, the breaking of the Christmas tree decorations was not actually funny. I think I've possibly slightly offended people who've just told me something serious, by giggling. And Luuk is much less amused when I shrink his favorite sweater or get lost when driving somewhere than I seem to be. I used to think it was a nervous thing, this laughing. Now I think maybe it's the Mexican in me, to laugh at everything, even in the face of things less humorous. Or maybe I'd just like to think that.

My hour with the Marokkan ladies ended, and I went back to my Dutch folks. They were knitting and chatting away, quietly and contentedly, with an occasional chuckle here or there. Mrs. S. complained about the temperature and wished the weather was brighter, then smiled at me and went back to reading the newspaper. Mr. H. nodded off; he'd slept horribly the night before. Mrs. F. started a story about something back in the day when she was a little girl, talking loudly and expressively; the other ladies listened politely and occasionally responded, sometimes leaning toward each other to comment quietly so as not to interrupt. I knew that when they all headed to their homes, they'd wish each other a pleasant evening, maybe rest a hand on one person's shoulder before waving to the rest and walking out.

I went home with a smile on my face. I'd enjoyed the day. But I missed Mexico more than I have in a while.

introducing mrs. s.

the heater at the old folks home is messed up. it never turns on when we want it to and it turns off when we don't want it to. the two rooms we use for activities with the old folks are often a bit cool, particularly if you are an 80year old lady who settles into your unofficially claimed seat at the table and only move if absolutely necessarily thus reducing activity and bloodflow to about null. we do our best to keep the ladies and occasional gentleman warm, but there's only so much we can do when the heater is unresponsive.

mrs. s. is a... - how to put this nicely? -....a colorful lady. personally, i find her extremely amusing. some of my colleagues are slightly less amused after years of working with her full time. we'll see how i fair after a few more months.

this is a short replay of my conversations with mrs. s. yesterday; the heater was fixed a couple days ago and seems to be responding properly.

"it's so cold in here!"

oh, i'll turn up the heater a bit. just let me quick finish this card.

"you'd think warmth would be more important here with all the old ladies in the room."

just a minute mrs. s....on my way.

*mrs. j. on the other side of the room mutters not-quite-under-her-breath: "there she goes again!"

"it's still cold in here! this morning it was so nice and cosy when we came in. but the heater is cold to the touch, it's not working any more."

well, mrs. s., we set the heater to a temperature, and it turns itself off once that temperature is reached. we've set it to 22degrees, so it must be 22degrees in here.

"well, obviously the thermometer is in another room, cause it certainly isn't 22degrees in here!"

would you like the stola (big thick shawl)?

"certainly not! i'm not the only one that's cold in here so why should i be the only one to get a stola? you (the caregivers) should make make sure there are enough stolas here for everyone!"

are you offering your knitting skills, mrs. s.?

"me? knit!? phaw! never."

well, i think you are the only one who is cold in here. i'm sure no one would mind if you wear the stola. would you like me to get it for you?

"no. i don't want it."

*mrs. j.: "what a whiner."

"ugh! it is still so cooooold in here."

really? i am sweating! i've set the temperature to 24degrees now.

"there's no way it's 24 degrees in here. you're just warm cause you walk around doing things."

would you like to do some exercises?

"i can't exercise in this wheelchair!" (she can walk but sits in a wheelchair with her legs straight out, something to do with her back. she also wears a brace).

we could do some arm exercises, get some blood flowing.

"you can't warm up from just moving your arms."

perhaps mr. s., you should consider wearing warmer clothes when coming here since you always find it so cold. or maybe bring a scarf?

"do you know how many layers i am wearing?! i have nylons on, wollen socks, slacks, boots, and a flannel shirt! i am packed in, but still cold, so it must be this room!"

but you are still cold. an extra sweater might still be a good idea.

"no, then i'll be too hot in the bus. you should make sure it's warm enough in here! old ladies in the cold, we'll all get sick. you just don't believe we are cold. "

*this followed by a chorus of "oh, but i'm not cold at all! it's quite cosy here." by all the other ladies...

oh, i believe you are cold, mrs. s. but i can't really do much more that turn up the heat and offer you the stola or some exercise.

"well, if i'd known it was going to be so cold here today, i would have stayed home!"

*mrs. j. (under her breath for the whole room to hear): "well, why didn't you then you old grump!"

i should be more humble.

today I took parts 1 and 2 of a 4 part Dutch exam which, if I pass, allows me to show the Dutch government that I am either willing to or at least capable of adapting to the Dutch culture. if I can speak the language, I can adapt, right?

the first part consisted of 8 short answer questions. that is, I had to write a full sentence or finish the one already started in a way that made sense. that took me all of 15 min. then I had 45 min to answer two questions with a full page of Dutch. followed by 1 hour to write 1.5 pages about whether I think violence on tv increase, decreases, or does not effect violence in children's behavior . the answer doesn't matter as long as it makes sense, is written in a structural manner and of course contains grammatically correct Dutch. one theory given to use in the answer was that violence on tv acts as an outlet for children with built up aggression therefore reducing aggressive behavior; I answered that if porn doesn't work that way, why would violence on tv...I kinda wish I could see what the bored government worker who has to grade the exams thinks of that.

maybe somehow my natural ability to bullshit my way through exams in English helped me work my way through this one without difficulty or I am really just that much better than everyone else in the room who ran out of time and complained about how hard it was. I felt pretty good about myself when I left the room for the hour long lunch break in the middle of Rotterdam with the nearest cafe a bitter 15 min walk through the freezing cold...

part 2 was a listening exam. for some reason I always thought of myself as a good listener. apparently, I'm not. I caught myself drifting off and thinking about what to make for dinner when I was supposed to listening to Jaap's answer to the question Jitske asked about playing piano in a band.

and my recognition of my inability to read maps was reinforced when question 27 required me to figure out from the conversation which map they were talking about. now, exactly which bit was supposed to be path and which bit was supposed to be road was completely unclear to me but apparently essential to the answer. bugger. I might have actually failed that part of the exam, despite my obvious superiority to everyone else in the room. pff.

at least, once I pass the exam, I can ask the Dutch government for a €650 refund for the €250 euro course. so if I have to take the exam twice, I'll still be able to reward myself with a nice pair of warm winter boots and a thicker scarf.

mr. t.

old people are far from boring.

mr. T. is close to 90 years old. he has had a long, not always easy, life. he has a tendency to drool, for which he carries around a white cloth handkerchief. the result of ageing and a stroke years back. when he reads the paper, he lays it on the table in front of him and leans over it with his face 5cm above it; it's the only way he can still see the letters. sometimes he falls asleep in this position, his back hunched, his arms stretched out holding the top corners of the paper, his head held just above the front page. he does everything slowly. very slowly. he's still 'all there', just at a slower pace than the world around him. but he talks alot (slowly of course) and he smiles alot. and he plays Triominoes every wednesday. he watches the others make their move, then looks at his board, he mutters to himself, he slowly picks up a tile and lays it next to one he thinks might match, it doesn't, he slowly picks it up again and puts it back on his board, he picks up another, lays, picks it up. painstaking. deliberate. he misses the clear match that i see sitting on the corner of his board, but i don't point it out. he's not a child. he's played this way for years. he hardly ever wins. and he loves it.

today his drool was red.

first the corners of his mouth were pink. i thought maybe he had eaten a coloured candy. then i saw red drops on his cake plate. and red swimming in his coffee. we checked his mouth for missing teeth or open sores. he wasn't coughing, it couldn't be from his lungs. he wiped his chin with his white handkerchief. he muttered that we should stop fussing about him. he seemed fine. so we let him alone and kept an eye on him.

it didn't stop. his handkerchief is spotted and streaked. his collar and sweater have large dark blotches on them. he'd soak it in warm water, he said.

we checked his mouth again. this time we found the source. he'd bitten his tongue. and he's on blood-thinners, his blood won't clot, so it just keeps bleeding. i wiped his mouth and hands with a warm wet cloth. he chuckled at me. this afternoon when he left for home, he spit on the handkerchief and showed it to me. 'See! It's clear! Now stop worrying!'

we're on for Triominoes again next week.

loving the cat

Kitty killed a bird yesterday. She ate it's guts and then puked them up all over the floor. This is the third bird in the past two months. The last one I found lying headless at the door. No guts lying all over the place at least. Never found the head. I'm assuming it re-appeared in the litter box.

She has this spot on our coconut-fiber rug that she likes to claw. The rug is 2x3 meters in size. But she claws only the one spot. Now there's a big fuzzy spot, right by the door, the first thing you see.

I made a little hut for her last month. She likes small dark corners. Whenever there is a box in the room, she jumps in it. If I open the closet, she hides in it and I usually only find her hours later when I realize I haven't seen her for a while and then I hear her meowing but can't figure out where it's coming from. When I'm on the couch, she crawls on my lap and tries to get under the blanket. I thought the little hut would be her new favorite spot. It was. For a day. Now she's back to perching on the end of the couch or sprawling out on the one white cushioned chair which as now turned a brownish yellow from whatever dirty stuff she leaves behind.

Every morning I almost fall to my death when I walk down the stairs and kitty appears out of nowhere right under my next step. She likes to be close to us. Real close. She especially loves to run little circles around our feet. It's particularly fun when we are walking. I think she gets a sadistic pleasure out of our stumblings. Even the times we step on her tail, kick her in the head or send her sprawling across the room before falling on our own faces is not enough to gain some space.

---

We are looking for a kitten. Why? To keep kitty company while we are both gone all day. Now I will have two piles of puke to clean up on a regular basis. Two ugly spots on the rug. Two dirty spots on the furniture. Two cats constantly running under my feet. Yes, this is a completely rational decision and I won't regret it one bit.

november

we woke up to fog this morning. which means no wind. which means an easy bike-ride to work. only to find out that i'd been scheduled on someone elses hours...so i got sent home, so no work today. or well, no official paid work. will be doing house-wifey work instead. maybe i'll finish up that picture album from our Alberta vacation this summer. printed waaaay too many pictures and i hate to throw any away, which makes for some rough cut-and-pasting.
maybe i'll find some awesome job opening in the paper today. or online. or in my weekly email from city unemployment offices. or maybe i'll hear back from that one awesome interview i had weeks ago. or maybe this will be the beginning of my latest mental breakdown... it is november, which means winter is coming, which means my tendency to seasonal meloncholy and depression is about to be encouraged by 4:30pm-8:30am darkness and incessant misty rain for the next four months. i do, however, have one major high-light to look forward to. christmas tree setup! and my four 100+ classic and cheesy christmas hits cds! i have to wait at least three more weeks, but then the shiny balls and stars and ribbons are coming out of the box, baby!

gipsies are people too.

I brought some clothes to the dry cleaners at our grocery store today and while I was there, picked up some fresh orange juice. Walking out, I pass the group of boys who wait at the door to ask anyone leaving with a grocery bag if they got any "foesjes", the latest gadget the store gives away for every 20euros you spend on groceries. No, I don't have any, sorry. They look away, disappointent, to badger the next buyer. As leave, I notice that the boys are now hallo-ing and waving at someone in the doorway. One boy walks up, turns around, lifts his coat and shakes his butt before laughing loudly and running back. Then he waves angrily, probably responding to a reaction, before yelling "I'll tell them in the store!". He comes back, "I told them! Ha!", and then they all start grunting and hallo-ing. I notice the gypsy woman sitting in the doorway. She sells the Streetnews, a newspaper run by and for homeless people. Three boys, who look like immigrants themselves, continue to yell at her; a blonde boy giggles and laugs at them. I walk up to them and ask "Are you being nice to the lady?". The blond boy looks guilty and blushes. One boy starts defending himself, "but she did it first! She swore at me!". "I'm sure you did nothing to deserve that," I say. "You should be nice to her. She's a person too."

I don't know why I said that. She's a person too. As if I needed to remind them that she is human. She probably did swear at them, not that they didn't deserve it, I'm sure they were annoying, but that's beside the point. Of all things I could have said, maybe something about respecting elders or something, "she's a person too" pops out. Well meant, I suppose. But degrading. Have I so little respect for her, this gipsy woman?

The lady from Gouda.

Mrs. de Vries wears two gold bands on her left-hand ring-finger. One is a thin and small and has formed a groove of its own just behind her nuckle. The other is thicker and larger. It sits loosely on her finger, held in place only by the smaller ring. Her hand tinkles and clicks while she gestures when she talks. Around her eyes are countless lines, fine and long, that scrunch up into thick wrinkles when she smiles. Her whole face wrinkles up when she smiles. The corners of her mouth turn up slightly, she never seems to frown. Her cheeks are covered in soft, transparent skin, the pattern of veins underneath gives it a blue-ish tint. Just like her hands. Sprinkled with brown spots. Her hair has been white for years, except two dark streaks above each ear. She wears it in a twist, pinned to the back of her head, thinning with the years but elegant and beautiful as when it was full and thick and dark.
'We were married 64 years', she tells me. 'He was a good man. We worked hard together. We had a good life. He never complained.'
The golden rings clink as she waves her hand slightly. The lines connect into thick, long wrinkles as she smiles to herself.
'He was a good man.'

true story.

i was in the wine/chips/nuts/snacks section of the store today and overheard the conversation of three boys aged around 10. it went something like this:

boy 1: "yeah, this one time i swallowed something and it go stuck and my dad had to squeeze me to get it out. i coulda died."

boy 2: "oh man, no, that's nothing! this one time i ate something i was allergic to but know one new i was allergic and i couldn't breath so they took me to the hospital and they were sure i was gonna die but then this doctor showed up and he figured out what was wrong with me and he gave me a shot and then i could breath again. if it weren't for him, i'd be dead."

boy 3: "well, i almost drowned in my sleep."

boy 2: "what? how'd you do that?"

boy 3: "i peed in my sleep and almost drowned in it."

boy 1: "you can't do that. you'd have to pee alot to drown in it!"

boy 2: "yeah! you can't drown in our pee. it's not enough to drown you."

boy 3: "well, i peed on my face and it got in my mouth and i almost drowned! haha!"

boys 2 and 1 look slightly skeptical. but slightly impressed.

i smile and walk away.

a post

it's drizzly out. windy and drizzly. i'm supposed to head out to utrecht to wander the streets and shop and catch up with Liesbeth. first stop will be a store where i can buy an umbrella. a cheap one, cause all of our other 5+ umbrellas broke in the past two weeks. umbrellas were not made for rain and wind. you'd think that given the regular weather circumstances here, some brilliant dutch guy would have invented a wind-worthy umbrella by now. but no. they still make them the same old way as always. it's a conspiracy, i tell ya, a way to keep making money off of us suckers who think we can stay dry under an umbrella when it's windy.

so first stop: buy an umbrella. or two, just in case.

monsters in the dark

last night there was a spider in my bed. he was one of those big ones with long fat meaty legs with a yellow semi-transparent tinge. at least the size of my hand. he was crawling slowly and intentionally toward me. i knew he would jump on me, he was ready to attack. his front two legs reached out, probing ahead, his back legs moved erratically in that strange unnatural way that spiders move. i yelled and sat up, moving away from the attacking spider, to the other side of the bed. i waved my arms in front of me, then pounded at the bed hoping to kill him or brush him away before he got to me. then i opened my eyes. there was nothing there. except the very sleepy and confused husband i was now sitting on, rubbing my back and telling me "it's ok, there's nothing there".

thankyou auntie teena

my head feels about ready to explode.

my eyes are sensative to the light. my nose feels like it shrunk to the point where i can barely breath through it and yet on the outside some how its big red and swollen from blowing it so much. my upper lip has no oils left in it and is starting to hurt before i even touch it. my voice sounds like a boy just pushing through puberty and my ribs and stomach feel like i've been doing situps all day when in reality i haven't done any belly-fat-reducing work whatsoever (and won't be reaping the benefits thereof, either) but have instead been sneezing and coughing my way through the day like like it's the hiccups.

i hate colds.

to Canada and back

after 14some hrs of travel and 8hrs time difference, we got back last night from a two week trip to Alberta. both of us were exhausted but I think I was more so than Luuk. partly cause he sleeps better on airplanes (I tend to doze and then wake up every time I feel my jaw muscles relax, which is immediately five minutes after finally falling asleep), and partly because of the emotional rollercoaster I feel I've been on the last few days. the family reunion was the most fun I've had in a while. everyone, aunts uncles cousins grandpa, was there, with the exception of two.
a historic event, mind you, as the last time that happened was...ten years ago at least. and memorable for so many good reasons. I was reminded of what a wonderful family we have. reconnecting was so effortless; not a moment of awkwardness, no tension, not even boredom. simply good. if only we could all move to the same place and extend those two weeks into years of happy familial co-existance. leaving was harder this time than it has ever been before.
and then there were other things, really shitty things that have happened to loved ones. things I won't share cause they aren't mine, but things that I am having a hard time processing because some of these things you could never see coming and some only happen in bad drama's. my heart breaks for them. I wish so badly I could be there to...do who knows what, but be there and not here on the other side of the world.
but some shit has a way of bringing out the good in some people. and these I admire. I can only hope to grow into someone like that, like my Grandpa for instance who takes the shit and forgives the person who threw it at him and then thanks God because it brought him closer to Him.

and now life goes back to normal. sort of.

I'm so tired now. Jet-legged. Flu-ish. And exhausted from other people's pain. I guess that's family though.

she's so sick...

she shoulda gone to a clinic during her first trimester, spread her legs and let a professional handle it. then it woulda been ok. http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-europe-10897191

ouderen dagverzorging

today i worked the activity center at the old folks home (which when translated literally actually is "old people daycare"), on my own for the first time. went well.

i think i remembered all the things i was supposed to do throughout the day.

was told several times i was made for the job. (it includes: serving coffee, twice; setting the table and serving lunch; serving drinks at 'borrel' time; playing endless games of rummikub; pasting cut-outs onto cards and making them look pretty so the old ladies can boast about their cardmaking abilities to the happy recipients; helping old ladies in an out of their chairs and occasionally helping them in the bathroom; pushing wheelchairs to and from the hairdresser; smiling alot and listening to the same stories for the third, fourth, fiftieth time...).

the taxi was late picking up some of the ladies. lots of grumbling.

just about lost my cool when i couldn't figure out which of the 7 listed taxi services i was supposed to call to find out where the hell they were with 11 old ladies offering kind suggestions in the background...figured it out, called, complained in a chipper voice, then heard the ladies hollering that he was there before i could finish saying "well, it can happen to anyone...".

and finally headed home, exhausted.

apparently coffee, cookies and rummikub suck the energy right out of you.

bought some haring and onions on the way home to revive me. yumm!

pesky little things, like mosquitos...

i realized yesterday that i am carrying a few grudges. and of course the other person has likely no idea.

like that guy who i knew at dordt my freshman year... he was a sophomore. we knew each other from a work group we led together in mexico a year before that. he broke up with his girlfriend at the time cause he thought we had a shot. but a year is a long time i guess. he looked me up when i get to dordt. we hung out a few times. he even kissed me on the nose once. then he asked me out on my birthday, but i was going away for a weekend conference, so the date was set for after i got back. the day i got back i called him for a quick ride to walmart, and on the way back he told me he wasn't ready for a relationship blahblahblah, and a week later had a new girlfriend and he never talked to me again unless i spoke to him first and then it was agonizingly awkward....

and this girl, i'll say no names, who i'm convinced never really liked me cause of, well, can't say cause then you might know who i am talking about...but who i once heard had said something about me being a dumb blonde.

then there's this person who i have tried so hard to be nice to cause, well, it's a really annoying person who is very difficult to like, but i have been going out of my way to be kind and pleasant and helpful and to invite them along to things cause we're called to love but not necessarily like our neighbor, right? anyway, recently this person, for whom subtlety is not a known concept mind you, mentioned appreciation for a couple at church who have been so kind and treated the person so well and "not in a charity kind of way but actually meant it, not like other people around here"....

(deep breath)

just thinking about them annoys me again.

well, here's my attempt to forgive 'em.
bugger.

julio?

the world cup is over and the fever has broken. the orange fans have gone home and the dutch team is off consoling themselves with the 24million euros won for second place. can't say i feel too sorry for them any more. though, it's never really about the money. not for a cup. i assume, anyway.

i'm making a quilt. who knew i had the patience? and actually, i really enjoy it. so i am afraid that from now on, friends getting married or having babies or with a landmark birthday can expected a quilt or something of the sort from me... at least for as long as this phase lasts. for a while it was paintings. i'm sure something new will show up for it's share of obsession.

still no job. though, a decent prospect as a part-time personal assistant/care-giver/whatever you cal it in English to a 14yr old boy with epilepsie and some sort of brain damage. i'm pretty sure i can do that. and with that job, i could keep up my old lady projects and still do my Dutch course and a coaching/counseling program on the side. i hope i get it. it'd be the perfect job for the next year, actually.

we've been in this house for over six months now. and i'm getting the urge to rearrange furniture and repaint some walls. if i can hold out for a full year, then possibly Luuk might be more willing and able to adjust to the changes. in this one area, we are not a good match. he likes things to stay the same, to always be able to know where to find things (though he never does, even if it hasn't changed location in months), to know what to expect; and i like to rearrange and redecorate, i get the moving-itch within a year (only held at bay by an occasional trip to some exotic country far away), and start to feel uncomfortable if things have been the same for more than six months. maybe, if i stretch my changes out a bit, say paint one wall this month, move a book shelf next month, re-arrange the kitchen cupboards the month after that, and so on, it might be enough to keep my urges under control and not drive Luuk too crazy all at once...