Dolphin Address 01
January 14th 2006
Years ago, I was still married and an active father, on holiday in France we drove by a back road. There was a random house and I remember to have said: 'Wellowell, imagine to live here, what a desertion', upon which Anne Linde said: 'But don't we live in the bush as well, dad?'
I had not thought, but indeed, on the farmhouse in Lageland our neighbours lived far beyond hearing distance and we saw them once a week tops. 'Yeah, but we liiive there,' I chuchewed, 'that is the multifunctional quality that defines our dimension of life'. But right she was.
And now I have been living for almost a year in Fanore. Compared to the farmhouse it is quite an improvement. There is a shop full of kind hearted people right next to my car door and, though I don't go there a lot, there even is a pub and there are more nice people living around than I reasonably can go drink a coffee in a week's time. Still you drive through the centre in half a minute and straight through the whole village in less than five.
When some days ago I rolled ashore at the Hook of Holland, the passport control person said to me: 'All is right , sir, but don't forget your car has to have an MOT-check at the end of the month!' In itself very attentive, but it rather hit me: 'Yeah, that's why I'm here.'
Twice a 1200 km drive, well over 500 euro for all ferry crossings, four full days and two nights of driving and all that for a simple car-check, so much for the European perspective.
Now I walk through Groningen again and celebrate my memory. This is truly incredible, half a word caught from a passing conversation suffices. The accent, the social stratum, the intonation, the subject and meaning all expose in a split second. Just now I feel very much at home, here I lived most of my life, here I am the specialist, the expert, here I go across the limits of my understanding.
A few hours later everything is back to normal. What concern is it mine that the garage door jammed, that she forgot to take the pill or that the paper was delivered at the wrong address.
A few days later I have finished my errands, visiting people does not make any sense, I'll be gone in a few days, who would want to invest attention in me. My Mother, all right, but with her I drink coffee until deep in the afternoon. I'm more or less through everting, did it all, even twice and am ready for action again.
I realise how far I had left that feeling behind me. In Fanore I'm always busy, always plenty to do. Then such tiny a village is bigger than a whole city. But I have sung enough about Fanore. The day after tomorrow I drive to Berlin. Home is where the heart is.
Jan Ploeg, care centre 'De Wiekslag', Norg, January 14th 2006
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