Sunshine and blue skies every single day for a week in Amsterdam? “What on G-d’s green earth?”, as my 6th grade math teacher Mrs. Conroy would shout…just before she hurled a piece of chalk at one of us who dared to come up with a wrong answer.

I’ve been gone a long time. From writing this blog that is. I’ve spent a lot of time at home - until the summer rolled in - which means I didn’t have much to share with you before then. But the summer months found me back out on the road. I was rusty. And nervous. I hate Covid for many reasons, mostly because of the constant worry about illness and mortality. But also for robbing us of the joy of travel. For those of us privileged enough to be able to afford it, travel gave us the chance to leave our old selves behind and imagine new ones. Without travel, we are stuck in our houses, without new scenery to distract us from our problems. So, although the summer is now a few months away, I decided to write about it. After all, if I don’t write about it in my blog, did it even really happen?

In the olden days, I looked forward to the anticipation of travel almost as much as the travel itself. Now that I was back on the road, I worried before, during and after. Not just about Covid, but also about airline snafus and other airport nonsense. And that was even before I got to where I was going. I also had thoughts about the people at my destinations. Do I still know how to converse with them? Will they have changed? Have I? To deal with all this, I decided to strut through airports and my various adventures - which I’m about to spool out in detail - with a false sense of bravado. I figured if I didn’t feel carefree, I could at least fake it. No better song to help me get to that place called Carefree then this one.

“Ain't got no trouble in my life
No foolish dreams to make me cry
I'm never frightened or worried
I know I'll always get by”

I used to think this song was about someone who didn’t have a worry in the world. Now I realize she’s just pushing down those fears by telling herself over and over and over again that she’s not frightened or worried. I’m onto you now, Kiki. It turns out Kiki Dee is her stage name. She was born Pauline Matthews. She performed this song live in 1975 in a jacket that looks suspiciously like a cardigan. I rest my case about whether she is truly “never frightened or worried” or just good at creating a puffed-up-with-swagger persona. Also, for those of you who actually listen to the music I post, note that at Minute 3:53, the song seems like it has ended. The crashing drumbeat and cymbals tell you the song is officially over. But wait… lo and behold, there’s more music in her. '“Don’t let it get you down,” she assures us. It’s a little reminder that just when we think things are over and we can’t go any further, there’s still a little gas in the tank. Thanks, Kiki.

So back to an airport I strutted in early June, headed back in time to my 40th college reunion. Turns out if you cover up someone’s face with a mask, you really don’t recognize them, especially with the 40 year gap between visits. Thank goodness for those dorky name tags hanging from our necks like a ball and chain. They announced to the world we were 40 years removed from our early 20’s, but they also shouted out our names. In large print. Also thank goodness for the dear friends who showed up so I had someone to talk to. Sure we spent time spinning out stories from our past. But we also talked about presents and futures. And entertained - otherwise known as bored to a stupor - the few brave significant others who came along like faithful emotional support animals. I won’t go into detail here, but this is one great group of people doing amazing things in this world. Plus they make me laugh and they laugh with and at me. These are qualities that are essential in a friend, don’t you think?

I’m wondering about this peculiar American fixation with college reunions. I don’t think they do this in Europe. Europeans probably realize there’s something quite unsettling about seeing people again you haven’t seen in 40 years. Your reunion-mates are doing exactly what you are: searching inside faces for the 18-year-old buried in the 62-year-old face in front of you. This reminded me of that perception test, where you can see either the young “girl” or the old woman, depending on your perspective. Let me tell you, it was hard to see the young girl or boy in some of those classmates. I noticed that it was much easier to do with the people I know and love, which makes me realize that love really does cloud your judgment. Or at least it puts a rosy glow on your friends, and a really harsh light on the people you didn’t know or like.

I have to admit it felt strange to be back at a place I knew so well as a 20 year-old. At a different time. No one like Dr. John to explain the feeling:

“I been in the wrong place
But it must have been the right time
I been in the right place
But it must have been the wrong song
I been in the right vein
But it seems like a wrong arm
I been in the right world
But it seems like wrong-wrong-wrong wrong-wrong.”

On the heels of time-traveling to my reunion, I ventured back to Amsterdam in June for the first time since we moved back to the U.S. in July 2019. As I’ve probably noted many times in this blog, being an expat was a lot like being in college: we were surrounded by others living away from home, all roughly the same age, all on their very best (or sometimes worst) behavior to try to snag as many friends along the way as possible. And all with many rounds of drinks to help sooth the sometimes awkward process of making new friends. So the transition from college reunion to Amsterdam reunion went down pretty smoothly.

Heading back to the airport I went, this time with a song in my head that didn’t try to tamp down my true self. How can you not love David Byrne for naming the feelings most of us are afraid to name?

“I can't seem to face up to the facts
I'm tense and nervous and I can't relax
I can't sleep 'cause my bed's on fire
Don't touch me, I'm a real live wire.”

Also, please note that David Byrne is not afraid to belt out part of this song in French. He’s seemingly not one bit worried about whether his accent is good, or whether anyone who’s actually French will criticize his pronunciation. Before boarding the plane for Amsterdam, I was determined to take a page out of his book when it came to speaking Dutch.

Being in Amsterdam was like meeting up with an old friend. Would she look any different? Would she recognize me? Would I be able to speak any Dutch? And what about the actual people I was going to see? After seeing people on screens, you start to think of everyone as Flat Stanley. I looked forward to seeing Amsterdam friends in 3-D.

I’ve widened my definition of what makes someone a good friend. Is it someone who buys you the same gift you brought her (earrings) and shows up without any pre-planning in the same color dress as you? Or someone who organizes a boat ride just because you’re in town and the sun is (miraculously) shining all day? Or someone from your book group you’ve mostly gotten to know via Zoom and texting? Yes to all three, by the way.

In addition to seeing some friends in the flesh, I visited some of my Dutch “teachers”, the people in my old neighborhood willing to bear witness to my garbled Dutch and help me practice. The owner of the dry cleaners had tears in her eyes when I walked in. Now that was a reunion! I got big smiles from the lady at The Nuthouse in the farmer’s market in our old neighborhood, and from my cheese man. I think I told them in Dutch that it was great to be back. I’m just not sure. They smiled, so I think the Dutch conversation went well. Who knows?

It turns out my Dutch was probably better than when I lived in Amsterdam. This isn’t completely surprising, since I have been trying to practice almost every day. Still, it’s been three years. And three years further away from the time in childhood when your brain is a sponge for language, which is now 55+ years in my rear-view mirror. My Dutch language ability on our visit just proves that anxiety interferes with language learning. When the stakes are low, the words come out a lot easier. Or maybe it was because I talked like a toddler, with short sentences that cut right to the point. Here is the translated script: “We moved three years ago. We got off the airplane in N.J. We saw family. Then Peter’s heart stopped working. Then he got better. Now we live in Nashville, Tennessee. The U.S. is broken. We miss Amsterdam.” I should probably talk in simple sentences like that forever, no matter which language I’m speaking. So much easier to communicate.

It also did my soul good to know that the things I remembered about the Netherlands and the Dutch were still there for me to notice and smile about: ex. their tendency to bring dogs everywhere, the way you can ride your bike for 15 minutes and be a in beautiful spot complete with cows, and the peculiar Dutch communal hand-towels in public bathrooms. I would have thought that little habit would have ended with the pandemic. Old habits die hard, I guess. Good thing I didn’t see this one until after I finished my delicious sandwich.

I barely had a chance to miss traveling after our return to Nashville from Amsterdam. Off we went at the end of August to the Canadian Rockies. I could go on and on about how wonderful those two weeks were: the chance to spend time with ex-Amsterdam friends, the color of that water, the gratefulness for being able to walk long distances and to see Peter hiking up mountains. I was, to quote Annie Lenox, “…thrown and overblown with bliss.” Annie Lennox’s voice is the musical equivalent of that blue water in the Canadian Rockies.

In addition to being in the mountains and seeing spectacularly beautiful sights, it was fun just to be silly. We learned from our hiking guides about a British woman climber who would scale the most challenging peaks in the Rockies before her male colleagues, then quickly don a skirt at the top. So that’s me (above) with Marc’s fleece fashioned into a skirt, along with Margaret, paper cups of maple-flavored Canadian whiskey in hand to celebrate our most challenging hike of the trip. Our guides, Noah and Tessa, really did think of everything. Silliness and laughter are key components to getting through a tough hike. P.S. I’m going to send that photo of Peter to his docs at UPenn. All their hard work on his heart and lungs really paid off. He’s one of the lucky ones.

After the Rockies, we headed west to Vancouver. We were startled to find a little Dutchiness even out in the wilds of British Columbia. I guess if you a Dutch person are looking to relocate to someplace completely out of your Netherlands comfort zone, you might end up near the Canadian Rockies.

Nothing like a road-trip for introducing you to places you would never have known about.

We were also startled to meet up on one of our hikes with a dog who looked just like Casey. I asked the owner if I could take a photo with her dog, and when she happily agreed, I said, “Come on, Casey” as I kneeled down to pose. The owner looked really surprised. That’s because her dog’s name is Casey. You call that a coincidence? You want to tell me that wasn’t a message from our Casey to us? Don’t worry, pal, we will never forget you.

Vancouver was a treat. We got to spend more time with ex-Amsterdam friends Deb and Marc (the photo of us, above, looks like a Bar Mitzvah table shot), we met up with Ben, and we ate sushi overlooking the harbor. Plus walked a ton and had glorious weather. It doesn’t get any better than that.

Let me slip in a few reading and watching recommendations here.

TV: Bad Sisters- If I tell you to try a show about sisters who plot to murder their grotesquely bad brother-in-law you might say - like I did at first- no thanks. But it’s funny. And clever. And spot on about the relationship between sisters. And full of great actors. And set in gorgeous Ireland. So watch it.

Severance- Nope, I don’t do sci-fi. Or future-fi. Especially if technology takes center stage. But good lord, I enjoyed this series. What if some little brain chip allowed you to prance into work without any memories of home, and return home without any nagging thoughts about work? And what if something sinister (of course) is behind the technology? John Turturro and Christopher Walken play work friends. You can just tell they are having so much fun acting opposite each other. Unless they were just acting. Thanks, Ben, for the recommendation.

Reading:

The book Far From the Tree: Parents, Children, and the Search for Identity, by Andrew Solomon is a hefty 900-something page boulder of a book. Solomon looks at how parents cope with children who are different from them. Which, if you think about it, is really all children in some sense. We all know the trope, “The acorn doesn’t fall far from the tree.” Solomon looks at what happens when children do fall far from who their parents are. I took forever to finish this book. You can take each chapter (one on deafness, another on prodigies, one on transgender kids, etc) slowly. The book is comprised of his interviews with parents and children, and his own wise words. Thanks to my friend Daryl for steering me in the direction of this one.
Thanks to my mom for suggesting this NYT article on children in Spain who were stolen from hospitals and orphanages and sold to wealthy families. It reads like a mystery novel, with twists and turns.

Also, I know I’m not alone in saying so, but thank you Lizzo. “Sheesh.” You have to love a song with that as the first word. I listen to this when I need a little pick me up. This song brings me joy. I know she is asking if she is ready for love, but I’m using it to get myself ready to travel again next week for my niece’s wedding. “Girl, I’m ‘bout to have a panic attack!”. Am I ready?

Now back to Nashville. What was doing back “home” while we were gone? A whole lot of the same. A steady influx of bachelorettes, the apocalyptic weather, and new houses in our neighborhood sprouting up in just days where once there was rubble or another (much smaller) house. In Nashville, the sound of traffic rushing past on an interstate outside your window substitutes for that blue water in the Canadian Rockies. A peek of the downtown skyline from your terrace stands in for the glaciers. I guess I have to take what I can get when I can get it.

Along with traveling again come the visitors. We’re so out of shape when it comes to welcoming them. Thank you, Brooke and Eric for swinging by on your way to New Orleans. They wanted to head downtown to check out the music scene on Broadway. This is the Nashville equivalent of Amsterdam’s Red Light District. A hot mess of tourists, fried food smells, and all manner of excessive behavior, but with music pouring out of windows, instead of….Same groups of drunk fools pedaling those drink-mobiles around, oblivious to how ridiculous they look and sound. Fun to experience this happy chaos every now and again, but if you come to visit, y’all may be on your own. We will need time to recover from our recent visit.

I do highly recommend the National Museum of African American Music, which opened last year in this same downtown area. I loved the touch screens that allow you to tap onto a musician’s name (say, Aretha Franklin) and hear her sing, or listen to her musical influences, or the people who she influenced. Brilliant! I got so many ideas for songs to listen to, so stay tuned.

Didn’t see any 60-something-year-old musicians playing folk guitar or fiddle on Broadway. I think there’s an open niche for me in one of those windows.

If you come to visit, you can get your photo taken with Bill Monroe, the Father of Bluegrass music.

I know what you’re thinking. Stop worrying and just get back to traveling. Easy for you to say. Lucky you, if you can accomplish that level of carefree nowadays. Or maybe you’re just better at faking it than I am. So for you lucky ones and/or fakers, here’s another song about people who have a breezy way of walking through life. This one is about a man who is carefree and lucky. The woman-singer seems both to envy and question his lucky status, like maybe he’s not really as carefree as he would have us believe.

“Not a care in the world
Not a worry in sight
Everything's gonna be alright
Cause you're the lucky one”

A little edit to the words of the song. In my version it’s not, “Give you a song and a one night stand, and you’ll be looking at a happy man.”

My lyrics are: “Give me a scone and a good night’s sleep, and you’ll be looking at a happy woman.” No, I don’t care that it doesn’t rhyme.

It will come as no surprise to you that laughter is my go-to coping method. When I tried to find some info on the subject of laughter, I came up short. Turns out it’s hard to study it because - also no surprise - no one feels like laughing when they are sitting in a research lab. But there are some tricks those researchers have up their lab coat sleeves to help. This article explains why this statue in Vancouver is so successful at making people laugh. It’s the contagiousness effect.

The sculpture comes with this advice: “May this sculpture inspire laughter, playfulness and joy in all who experience it.”

May you all find laughter somewhere, somehow, every day in this mess of a world we live in.

“Maybe your baby done made some other plans.” I just might have, Stevie. And Happy Anniversary! 50 years since this album was released. Hard to believe. Sounds so current to me.

This might be a better way for me to travel from now on. Listen carefully. You just might be able to hear me laughing as I float past.