Writings
Memoir Stories

Food Deliveries When I was a little child at about 4 years old, I do remember that there were home deliveries for different groceries. Most of the deliveries were by horse and buggies and most horses had their eyes covered with a layer of leather to protect from the bright sunlight and other distractions. The fresh eggs were delivered by an egg farmer, as well as the butter and raw milk too. We had a special can for the milk and there was always a thick layer of cream on top. We had to boil the milk in a certain way to pasteurize it. I do remember how good the milk tasted and my mother made turns with us for who was allowed to enjoy that top of cream. The vegetables were delivered by the greengrocer also with horse and buggy. Fresh homemade bread came by a baker but he came by car and was the first one in our street without a horse and buggy. He actually was a distant family member of our grandparents living across the street. There were seasonal deliveries too, like the fresh fish was mostly only in Fall because that is when the mussels came in. I remember an elderly woman dressed in traditional Holland Dutch costume and riding a carrier cycle calling very loud, “fresh fish! Fresh fish!” As an elderly woman myself, I think she was around sixty years old. Her costume was new to us young ones because we didn’t grow up with neighbors or our parents with wooden shoes and costumes. Yes, I do remember my both grandfathers had wooden shoes on if they worked in the vegetable garden or did some other yard work. But other than that, they were dressed with shoes. This saleswoman was dressed in very fine material that was worked on with starch in the old-fashioned way. You put some starch in a bucket with warm water and put a dress in that needed to make it a certain shape. Then you dry it and when you iron it you do it in a certain way then it stays like that - stiff. Her head was covered with a kind of white material - also starched - and on the sides, there were some silver shiny pins with on the top end two very shiny silver medals. Her face looked always the same - no smile it looked like that was also starched - emotionless. She made a very graceful impression on her whole personality. Because she looked so different and her voice sounded very shrill, I actually was a little bit afraid of her although she never gave me any look. She was there to sell fish and that was her major goal which she succeeded well. My mother never bought anything from her because my father went Saturdays on his bicycle to the market. He bought fresh tuna fish, vegetables and fruit. He always came back with fresh flowers for my mother and that made her very happy. Only in the month of June the fish saleswoman came back to sell “New Herring” and that is what she would shout out loud. New Herring is a very fresh caught herring that Dutch people love very much. When I think back about this precious memory then I know that it was very hard work to ride this carrier cycle filled with fish and the weather was not always that pleasant, but she came in the streets no matter what weather was going on. I don’t know where she got her fish from but the only fish shop I knew was in another town close by. During the year, a rags man also came along in the streets with his horse and buggy to pick up rags and old stuff that you don’t use anymore and wanted to get rid of. In return he gave us kids some cheap toys and we were happy. This man also sharpened knives and scissors for a low amount of money. I do remember that he was always smiling and in a good mood. We received lots of potatoes through an offer especially for the coal miners and they filled up a big box in our basement. The delivery by a potato farmer was done via a special entrance at our front door where a metal grid was that you could lift up and had access to the basement potato box via a 2-window opening. Sometimes they came with a mouse too and my father had to set traps which I never liked and felt sorry for the animal. Coals for Heat Our heating system was with coals like anthracite for the coal fireplace in the living room and the egg coals for the kitchen coal stove. The kitchen felt always nice and warm and the living room, only when you were sitting close to the fireplace. I do remember that we always had a big water kettle on the fireplace for the humidity level in the house. In wintertime when we couldn’t dry our laundry outside, we had it hanging in the kitchen or on a rack in front of the fireplace. This was almost in every house in the coal-miners colony. The coals were also delivered to our house but that was in our back yard in a special big concrete storage. We had a black coal kit in the house that needed to be filled every day in the morning when we had to put the fire on with some wooden sticks and old newspapers. Mostly one of my brothers took care of that. The girls were more involved in girls-women’s work in the kitchen like cooking, dishes, sewing and house cleaning. No one of us girls had ever had a dull moment. There was always something to do. The boys took care of the fireplace and stove as well as they needed to chop wood and polish all of our shoes on Saturday before Sunday church service. The rest of them could do what they wanted. There was a clear difference between growing up as a boy or a girl in our family and other families at that time. I do remember the smell of the fireplace and especially in the beginning when wood was used to put on the fire. On the kitchen stove, there was always a water kettle too or some homemade soup simmering and smelled very good too. I am very happy with these memories. I also do remember the cold corners in the house and the second room next to the living room was not directly heated but depended on the fireplace in the living room. In the past there was a separation by big doors, but when I grew older and my mother became bedridden, my father broke the wall and took the doors down and it became one big room. At that time, we got our first gas heating system in the living room - a gas convector. It was clean energy. I do remember not so dirty dust anymore like the coals cause. It warmed up the big room. Back to the coal stove heating we had to deal with extreme winter colds where the bedroom windows upstairs were covered with ice flowers. Beautiful artwork is all I can say. We got some extra blankets or for us little ones, some winter coats from my parents. I love to look back to this time when my grandparents came over to watch tv with us and my grandfather smoked his pipe or cigar. I loved the smell and somehow it gave a peaceful sight to see the smoke in the lamp light. And I loved the smell. At Monday’s there was a big kettle of white laundry cooking away on the kitchen stove to get it all cleaned. When I look back to these precious memories I smile and realize what an easy life I have in the meantime 65 years later. What a huge difference and interesting development behind me. God Thanks for the memories and graceful awareness. There is so much more to say by example about the money value at that time - knitting and crocheting our clothing as well as sewing and remodeling from old clothing, radio plays, first gramophone player, first TV black and white later on color, first car, first phone, first computer, first smartphone and now we are in the time period of Artificial Intelligence. WOW!!!!!!!!!!

I looked at the beautiful baby in the crib and I smiled. He was a few months old and looked around and then at me again with a question mark on his face. When his face showed that he wanted to cry I picked him up and started to sing a lullaby while I was cradling him. He stopped making faces and became comfortable. We were totally strangers to each other but yet the most important people in this street play. Who was I and who was he? It all started when I met Lambert via a friend who studied as a social worker at the day college. At that time, I studied in the same building but at an evening college for social work. Lambert wanted to collect money to help the mentally handicapped children who were affected at birth. My friend’s name was Marlou and Lambert came to the day college and asked for students to help him to set up a project. Community outreach was one of the topics of our study of sociology and we could meet our requirements to set up a community project with Lambert. That would serve both our goals. Lambert was allowed to use one of the classrooms at night for these meetings. It was October 1980, and I went with Marlou to the first meeting and we didn’t know what to expect. Lambert was an artist in his forties who looked like a hippie with his long hair and long beard. He already had an idea and asked us what we thought about a living Christmas play in the streets of this small College town Sittard. The environment was fertile because it was a very Catholic community located in the South of the Netherlands. The rest of the Netherlands was reformed or protestant. There were 11 of us and three dropped out right away because of lack of interest. Lambert said that with a living Christmas story we could attract a lot of people and receive many donations. The goal was using the donations to get attention for the handicapped children/teenagers living in homes by providing them with art products. At the end of the following year there would be an art show of all the collected pieces of different homes. We had to realize that this project would take up more than a year and be intensively busy during this time. First to set up a Christmas play with collecting donations, and the following part to approach these homes for interest in the art project and finally the art show set up. After a few meetings, more people dropped out because they didn’t want or couldn’t make this long term commitment. Because it was a short time before Christmas, we had one or the other week an evening meeting. I was a single mom at that time because I was divorced from my son’s father a few years earlier. I had a busy life taking care of my son, working part time and studying at night at college or at home. I always paid a babysitter for my son when I had to go to college at night two or three times a week for three years. At that time, I was not in touch with most of my family as only my youngest brother Benjamin but I had very nice friends. I was the only single mom in this project group and asked if it was okay to take my son with me when we had an extra meeting on the weekend. Everyone agreed because they liked my input on this project. So my dear son was a little bit involved and later would get a role in the Christmas play too. They were looking for role shares and especially a woman who would fit the role of the Virgin Mary. They all chose me and I don’t know why, but I took on this role on one condition that my son would have a role too and be close to me. So Lambert wrote a role for my son who would manage the sheep in the stable behind me in Lambert's house which he offered to provide. I also asked if my son Bart could have his little girlfriend Iris with him so that more likely it would be a success because her mother would keep an eye on them. Everything I asked was approved by everyone. So I needed to take care of my clothing for my role as the Virgin Mary of course and find some stuff at a thrift shop. My script was small, but my behavior was of smiling and caring for the living baby and to the public of course. It was a lot of preparation of working as a team by example to make Lambert's front room empty and make it a stable with hay and a crib. Then when the day was arrived, I met my so-called husband Joseph who was from Indonesia and had long black hair. He was a social worker in the streets to help lost teenagers. I had very long wavy light blond hair which looked interesting next to Joseph. Marlou was one of the angels and looked like a real angel with her pretty Italian face and her beautiful big white wings. There were some shepherds also around us and right behind me were two musicians with homemade medieval instruments. I loved medieval music and felt it with my whole body. Behind them was a small wall with three sheep and my son with his girlfriend who took care of them. I could see him when I turned and saw that they had a good time. I had to dress them with a big jute bag and they looked so cute. The public loved these two little kids, the age of six. Lots of people came out to see us and the street play would be three times a day on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. The street play was that Joseph and I were walking in the street with me on a donkey, believe it or not. I never sat on a horse and never on a donkey with no saddle. Like the story tells - Lambert had the role of the story teller - and we stopped in the middle of the street because the donkey refused to walk on - the streets were filled with rows of people and when I came in on the donkey, right away parents came to me with their children and gave me their artwork that they wanted me to sign. It was not in the script of course, but you can expect anything from the public and you have to improvise. I thought this was so precious dealing with the children and their excitement on their faces. It took a while before the donkey was planning to walk again. Maybe he was not used to so many people, but everything went very well. The musicians were also walking behind us and playing the music. When we came back to the stable the baby was handed to me to lie in the crib and as soon as we took our places in the stable the melody "Tubular Bells” was playing. I will never forget how it affected me. I had all the goosebumps over my arms. I loved this music!! My brother at that time was studying photography and made a lot of photos of people to sell and gave the profit of it as a donation for our goal. The press was also there on Christmas Day, and a photo was placed on the front page of the newspaper the next day. My brother also made photos of us and put a photo album together. I still have the album to this day, and it gives me a big smile on my face about those sweet memories. It was the best Christmas ever I had in my life with my little son. He remembers this still too.

Part I It was 1980 when I lived in an apartment complex with 4 floors. I lived as a single mom on the second floor with my son. We were the first in a gallery next to the elevator, and there was an English family with three kids next to us. I was in good touch with her and her 2 little daughters and a toddler son. I didn’t like her husband because one time he came back home very drunk late in the evening and rang my doorbell and wanted to come in. Of course I ignored him and the following tries. I felt sorry for his wife because she was nice and so dedicated to him and their children. He was in the military of NATO. NATO stands for 'North Atlantic Treaty Organization'. It is a military alliance of 30 countries in Europe and North America. Its headquarters is in Brussels. The Netherlands is a member of NATO as well as England. We had a Nato department stationed close by. I wasn’t sure who lived next to the English family. The fourth family, the last in the gallery at the corner, was a family from Morocco. I do remember that if they passed my kitchen window Muhammed walked first and then Nadia came a few meters behind him. They were Muslims and she always had her hair covered. Both of them were always very friendly and with respectful greetings. Not everyone in the building treated them with respect. They were hard workers in a clothing factory I found out later on and she steamed all the clothing. She became pregnant with her first child and when the baby was 2 weeks old, she came to my door. I was very surprised when I saw her because we never had any real conversation and was wondering what the reason was. In broken (holland) Dutch she made clear that her mother-in-law was coming from Morocco and would land in Amsterdam airport the next day. This was a 2 ½ hour one way train trip. She asked me if I could care for her baby that day. Of course I said but explain to me what you like me to do because my son is 6 years old so it has been a while since I took care of an infant. Early the next morning there she was with a big, braided bag and the baby in it. Her name was Sonia and she was sleeping like a little princess. She showed me how the baby was wrapped in a kind of small white cotton blanket and red ribbon criss-cross all over her. I never saw something like it as only in biblical images. Nadia quickly explained to me what to do and how to heat up the milk bottles and how to change her. I really need to look into how I get all this wrapped back up. Oh well, I thought we will see how it goes. I felt somewhat flattered that she came to me and trusted me with her infant while there were other Moroccan families in other apartments across from us. I always thought that they would stick together but I didn’t question Nadia of course and was happy to help out. It was a nice surprise and experience for my son and I. Bart, my son was thrilled too and hours later he came with some of his neighborhood friends to show off the beautiful princess. She was so cute and her big brown eyes and long dark hair for such a little one looked precious. She hardly cried as only to let me know when she was hungry and for the rest of the time she slept peacefully. Bart wanted to feed her too and of course I gave him that chance to feed her with the bottle and that was his first time in life. He was so touched by her little fingers and the look of her drinking. He felt like a big boy and not mommy's little boy. Two of my friends in the neighborhood came over too to catch a look at this Muslim baby and it also gave them a smile on their face. They knew they didn’t have a chance with Nadia because she and her husband were mostly inside of their apartment and not so outgoing as only if needed - very private. I never saw them walking outside with a stroller. Later that day she and her mother-in-law came over to pick up the little one and her mother in law was dressed in a beautiful Muslim gown with lots of golden threads and different blue and red colors all handmade. She was so happy because that was the first time that she could have her granddaughter in her arms. Nadia thanked me many times for the good care of her baby. It brought us closer to each other and Bart and I were the only ones in the neighborhood invited to see Sonia sometimes. Her second baby girl was born when Sonia was almost three years old. When she was in labor, she asked me again to take care of Sonia for 2 days. It was a pleasure because Sonia loved to play with Bart who was now 9 years old. Bart loved her and kept her busy with coloring drawings and reading stories for her like I did when he was at that age. He also took her to a small playground close by and he watched over her for her safety. It was a pleasure to see my son caring for her. I also took her over to my parents on the backseat of my bicycle in a special child safe seat. Bart had his own bicycle, and it took us one and a half hour one way to my parents but the weather was very nice. Sonia loved it and was singing some Muslim songs her mother taught her. My parents were surprised to see me with Sonia because their neighborhood was very (holland) Dutch and not used to Muslim children. I grew up with the warning never to come home with a Moroccan or Turkish man because I was not allowed to come back home. In that time there were lots of guest workers from Morocco and Turkey who worked for their big families in their homeland. It often happened that young girls in the area got pregnant and there was not a future for those girls. My parents were very concerned and that is why they threatened me and my older sisters. They were nice to little Sonia inside of their house but asked me to leave at the back of the house when I would go back home. This little girl looked a lot like her older sister and had beautiful black curly hair. She was so happy to hop around in her walker. Eight months later a big drama happened where I became involved to help together with my boyfriend. I will write about that next time or you can read it on my website. Part II - Surrounding neighborhood When Sonia was almost 3 years old another baby girl was born. She looked precious and beautiful like her sister. Sonia was happy with her baby sister and watched over her like a hawk. My son and I were allowed to see her and talk to her. It was so sweet to see this little humpty dumpty so happy with her baby sister. When the baby was 8 months old - and I still see her happily hopping around in her walker - something very tragic happened. There was this doorbell ringing again but now it was Muhammed when I opened the door. He looked so very sad and depressed that it touched my heart deeply. In broken Holland Dutch he made clear that the little one died unexpectedly. Oh no, I said I am so sorry but what happened? He explained to me that she was found dead in her bed and an autopsy needed to be done to find out the cause. Nadia was pregnant again with her third child in the fourth month and she was sick and not able to take care of Sonia. They needed to make arrangements for the funeral and invited family from Morocco. So he asked me if Sonia could stay with us for a while till the funeral which could take up a week. Of course I said and please bring her over to us but if she wants to see her mommy or you, can she come home just to say hi? And he nodded and had problems holding back his tears. I felt so much grief and compassion for this family, and I would have loved to give him a hug but didn’t know enough of the culture if that was accepted as appropriate behavior. Muhammed came over later that day to bring little Sonia who was crying and it was all so sad. Bart took her by the hand and tried to change her focus to something pleasant and had paper and crayons ready. It worked and soon they were working on their piece of art. God thanks to my own son who felt what Sonia needed. I wondered why Muhammed didn’t ask other Moroccan families to care for Sonia but found out later on. It was nice summer weather that week so we went every day to a beautiful large indoor playground, an outdoor playground, swimming pools for both the little ones and older children, a train, slides, mini golf, barefoot path, go-karts, little boats on a big pond, water bicycles and cable cars. (Steinerbos). Bart and Sonia had a good time. We kept Sonia occupied and it was also school vacation for Bart. Then the evening before the funeral Muhammed came to our door and asked Sonia to come back home. My boyfriend, son and I were invited to the funeral all day like family. He said you are part of our family. I asked if we needed to be specially dressed and he said we were welcome the way we are. A heat wave hit us on the day of the funeral and with no air conditioning it was hot and humid in the apartments. We saw lots of people passing our kitchen window going to the family, and then there was a Muslim spiritual leader dressed in black and in Moroccan style. Because of the heatwave, everyone had the doors and windows open. Suddenly I heard loud whistling across from our apartments when the spiritual leader passed our kitchen window. There I saw in that gallery many Dutch people gathered and sitting on folding chairs with cases of beer like the funeral was an entertainment. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing and seeing. Shortly after we went over to the Moroccan family for the funeral. My boyfriend with Bart was guided to the living room where all the men were and I was taken by hand by the women to a hot kitchen to help prepare warm food. We communicated by hand and foot, and they all were very nice to me like I was part of the family. When I saw Nadia, I walked over to her and gave her a big hug and she burst out in tears and cried. I couldn’t hold back my tears either and felt so sad. Suddenly I heard the spiritual leader singing or praying out loud. It was impressive and I got goosebumps all over my body. The ceremony had started but something else started too. Across the apartment building the Dutch people started to sing out loud too but some drunken sailor songs. I felt so embarrassed that I was Dutch and I felt very angry about this lack of respect and rude behavior. I had to stop this or at least do something, and went outside where I asked them to stop this behavior and show some respect for this tragic event. They became worse and started to yell at me. Some Moroccan women came quickly outside and begged me to let it go and come back inside to them. That respectless behavior made me very sad inside. They kept going till the service was finished and the people left. When the ceremony was over some women went into the room to wash the men’s feet. Then they were provided with our prepared food: couscous, carrots and peas and sheep meat - also Moroccan flat bread to dip in the gravy but first a soup. Afterwards they drank spearmint tea for a healthy digestion and some very sweet dessert was also given. We women had to wait in another room till they were finished and then it was our turn to eat but without foot washing. We actually had the leftovers which were still good and enough. The women talked with each other and laughed and seemed not bothered by the drunken Dutch sailors' songs. Then it was time to clean up everything, but I could leave with my son and boyfriend. Muhammed and Nadia thanked us so much and all the women came to me and gave me a hug. One of these drunken neighbors lived in the apartment below me. The next day I was on my balcony and told him off about their rude behavior. He didn’t care what I said, and I asked him how can you do something like that while you have a little beautiful baby girl yourself. You better watch out that nothing happens to her. One week later this cute blonde-haired baby girl died unexpectedly. I heard them screaming and crying out loud through the walls and floor. One month later they moved away and never saw them again. Shortly after that I moved away also to the big city Maastricht because I found a good job and better housing. Muhammed and Sonia left after a while too after their son was born to another city and we lost touch. The reason other Moroccan families didn’t offer to take care of Sonia in their difficult time was because I found out they were afraid that the little one that passed had a deadly contagious disease.

In May of 1982 I finished my evening college in social services and in September that year I started my job as a homecare manager. This was in the capital city of the Province Limburg in Maastricht, The Netherlands. It took 3 interview rounds until the last round, where it was only me and somebody else. I experienced the study of 4 years at college. Three evenings a week was much fun. My son was 7 years old when I started and I had a babysitter for him the evenings that I went to college. My clinical observations were in the parole office field. Because of my very bad experiences with my first husband, the father of my son, I decided to see if I could do something with my life experiences. The story took place March 1974 as follows: The father of my son was caught in an attempted robbery/murder of an elderly woman in a small town named Kerkrade in the Netherlands. Her family owned a cigarette/cigar store but that seemed like a way of white washing money. This was about criminal activities like heroin deals. I found out later at court what exactly happened when my previous husband had to stand for his case. My son was only 5 weeks old when the robbery/attempted murder took place. My husband said that he had a job, but they were all over the place and I couldn’t reach him. Then one night when he didn’t come home from work, I didn’t know what was going on and I was very concerned. I thought he might be in the hospital so I called all of the local hospitals. I called the police station, and they had no information either. But 30 minutes later there was some loud knocking on my door with the demand to open right away. I did and the door flew open, and I was put straight up against the wall by policemen and my apartment was filled with armed police ready to shoot. While they were questioning me over and over again about where my husband was, the rest of the team searched the apartment and put everything upside down or inside out. I was overwhelmed and never had a problem with the law. I truly thought my husband had an honest job but had to find out in a rude awakening that I didn’t know who I was married to. I saw my infant baby lying on the floor and crying at the top of his lungs. I was not allowed to go to him and nobody else did. Even his crib was torn apart. I had no clue what was going on and somehow, they didn’t believe me. When nothing was found they all left and there I was in the middle of a trashed-up apartment. I was in shock and felt like I was living in a nightmare. I picked up my son and comforted him, but it took a long time before he was calm and not crying anymore. Feeding and cleaning him helped a lot to get him to sleep. I put him back on the floor and set up his crib with sheets and everything so he could sleep. I was not able to do anything else other than sit on the floor with my back up against the wall. One hour later I found the strength to call my in-laws. They lived in the neighborhood and came right away. They were in shock too and helped me to get everything in order again. The next day I was asked to come to the police station for questioning. I saw my husband for 10 minutes and he looked terrible. Because the woman didn’t die of the attack with a sledgehammer, but of course was injured and admitted to the hospital, he only got 5 years of sentence with 2 years in prison. My family separated from me at that time because they were in shock too and were afraid to get involved in something bad. So I was on my own but in touch with my in-laws. It was a difficult traumatic time for me. It took many years before I was in touch with my family again. My youngest brother lived with my parents and worked a job close by where I lived. He came to visit me sometimes after work against the will and behind the back of my parents. They never found out. I felt I was punished by my parents for something I had no clue about and was innocent. The rest of my family followed my parents' decision, so I really felt very alone besides the shame I felt about what happened. It was on TV, the radio and all the newspapers. These experiences became very beneficial for my job as a homecare manager placed in a very bad part of town in Maastricht. Most of my coworkers were book smart and didn’t know how to work in this part of town. I connected very well with lots of my clients and especially bonded strongly with my homecare providers. We were one very good TEAM and I was happy with my right choice of profession.

It all started when I met my husband on my first vacation trip to the USA in December 1993. We met through friends and at parties we were not so much connected till the night before I had to go back to the Netherlands. It happened to be that we were seated at the table next to each other – we suspected that one of our friends had set this up but never found out. We got engaged in a very interesting discussion about World politics and before we knew it the party was over and I had to leave. We quickly exchanged phone numbers and addresses and promised we would keep in touch with each other. It took a while before we started to write but it felt like we were old friends. After a few months of writing, we felt comfortable enough to make a start with phone calls. A few months later he visited me in the Netherlands and that year in 1994 we visited each other back and forth till we found out that we really loved each other. Somebody had to make a decision to leave their country and that was my husband. At the beginning of 1995 he came over to stay for 3 months because he was not allowed to stay longer by the Holland Dutch law according to the VISA. He was back to the USA for Spring and Summer and now it became serious. September 15, he came back to stay with me for good. We put a request in for marriage so he could stay with me and December 14, 1995 we got married in Maastricht in the ballroom from the time of Napoleon Bonaparte. City hall at that time was in scaffolds and construction so temporarily all the marriages took place in the classic ballroom. That made it a very special experience and never to forget. After 2 years living in Maastricht, the oldest city of the Netherlands with cobblestones and still buildings from the year 400 A.C. We decided to make our move to the USA although I mean for me it was an immigration and for him going back home. My husband had trouble at that time to get an interesting job in the Netherlands because there was high unemployment and mostly the jobs went to the Dutch people. I had an interesting job as a homecare manager and loved my job. I had to think twice if I really wanted to leave my family and my job but from the other side I was interested in a change in my life. Since I was a child, I always wanted to immigrate to Australia – why? I am not even sure but I guess I liked the challenge and the adventure. 2 Now America is not Australia but it is another continent across the ocean and a change of culture. My husband went back to America September 1997 and after 14 days he could give me the call that he got his old job back and they were happy actually having him back. Now I could tell my boss to quit but I had at least to work another month so I worked till the end of October. And the second week of November my husband got back to the Netherlands for 1 week to clean out our apartment and say goodbye to my family. That first week of November I was very busy with packing and giving away stuff to family and friends. I also organized goodbye parties for family and friends in the evening and had a good time although I was very busy of course – no dull moments. Once when my husband arrived, we were really busy getting rid of the big stuff and we needed to do some repair work before we could leave the rental apartment. March 1997 my husband and I were on our way to the American Embassy in Amsterdam when we made a wrong turn in the city. We were lost for a moment and tried to find our way back that would bring us to the embassy. Suddenly I could not believe this but there was standing my first husband, the father of my son and grandfather of my granddaughter. We didn’t see each other for 20 years and I had to look twice to make sure because of course he aged. He was selling newspapers for homeless people and it looked like he was homeless himself. I stopped walking and said to my husband: do you see that man over there? Does he remind you about somebody? My husband could not figure it out so I said look at him and think about my son. He looked at me and said: is this your sons’ father? And I said yes, doesn’t my son look like his father? There was a big line in front of him and I said to my husband I will buy a newspaper and see if he recognizes me so I was standing in the line. When it was my turn, he gave me the newspaper without looking at me but I was not right away giving him the money to force him to give me a look. He looked at me and I said: hi Koos how are you doing? Ankie, he said you look much older and I said well that is what 20 years does to us. I introduced my husband to him and told Koos that we were on our way to the American embassy for the immigration application process to America. Our plan was to leave somewhere in Fall that year. We could not talk that long since there were people behind us in line waiting to buy his newspaper. 3 I found out that he was homeless and said when we would come back from the embassy, we could meet him at a warehouse eating place and talk some more. I never saw him again till 10 years later on his death bed in a nursing home. He didn’t die as a homeless person but as a director of a big house for homeless people in the big city Utrecht. This is another interesting story. Friday, November 14 1997 came and some of my family came along the train trip to the airport in Amsterdam. My son, his girlfriend and our 2-year- old granddaughter– my oldest brother and his wife – my 2 older sisters – my youngest brother. We were packed and we also had our cat Jasper with us in a special sky carrier. The train trip took 2 ½ hours and when we finally arrived, we first had to take care of the cat to check in. When we were all set to go, I suddenly started to sob and felt so depressed for saying goodbye to my family and especially to my little dear granddaughter Mirthe who I knew I would miss her like crazy. I heard my sister-in-law saying to me – why are you crying now? You did so good all the time. It didn’t help me to stop crying and that is how I left the gate to exit the Netherlands. When we arrived in New York Kennedy Airport I was guided to the immigration office where they took all of my fingerprints and I had to sign some papers. Then I received my temporary permanent residence card (Green Card) which would be valid for 1 year. Now it was time to pick up our cat and when that was done, we could leave the airport. Bob, Mike’s friend, was waiting outside with his truck and he would bring us to my husband’s parents’ house in Pennsylvania. The weather was very bad, freezing rain made the roads slippery and for the first time in my life I was involved in a car accident. A woman slammed her car into the side of our truck on the highway. It took hours before everything was set with the police and in the meantime, we were sitting in the car because it was too cold being outside. The rest of our drive went well and closer to my in-laws my husband took over the driving. When we were going down hill my husband said that often down the hill deer were crossing. And yes, unbelievably down the hill close to the road there stood a big buck with beautiful antlers and what was really very special is that steam came out of his nose because it was so cold. 4 My gosh, what an experience and I felt sorry I didn’t have the time to take a photo – that would be so special. We all stayed overnight at my in-laws and the cat was so stressed out but so happy to get out of the carrier and rolled in his litterbox. The next day after breakfast we all left to go to our new place in Vera Cruz. The drive from my in-law’s house to Vera Cruz took 45 minutes and was an experience never to forget. When we came on the backroads, we saw a beautiful scenery of trees and landscape with a thick layer of ice on everything so far, as you could see. The sunshine made it even look like a fairy tale because that made the crystallization so beautiful and I do remember I felt like that was my welcome to America. We all enjoyed this beauty of nature. One of Mike’s friends David had a room in an old farmhouse of 180 years old and there were two rooms available. When we arrived, a friendly young guy named Ray opened the door and greeted us. There was a major power outage because of the bad weather but he had fresh coffee for us on his wood stove. I do remember Ray (has a room and a bedroom) as a guy who loved campfires and burned almost down the smoke kitchen mantel but I loved his big bonfires with a drink along. That first night I met Robin, David’s girlfriend at that time and she took a shoo fly pie along as a welcome for us. This was my first kind of pie and I loved it. We became friends forever still to this day. My 25 years here in America became the happiest years in my life. Monday, November 14, 2022 my husband took a vacation day and we went for the day of this special occasion to Shady Maple in Lancaster and had a good time. We passed the old farmhouse on our way up and back home and looked at it with a smile because that was our very first place together in America 25 years ago!! Now we continue with love and happiness to enjoy our further future here in America!!