« Books, books, books | Home | A warm welcome »

An afternoon in the town

You often see that during school vacations, but outside those periods as well, when grandmothers push the baby strollers or, to be honest, sometimes a grandpa, too. The role of grandparents appears to change more and more these days. “Our children wanted children,” I recently heard a grandma say, “and we have become co-parents against our wishes, although that isn’t the intention. The kids do not want us to raise the grandchildren, they just want us to babysit them, but I don’t want them jumping on the couch with their shoes on, or pulling the dog’s tail, so we do end up parenting again.” Today, I hear a grandma negotiating with her grandkids in town: First we go to the museum and then to the ice cream parlor. The kids don’t want to go to the museum and I don’t blame them because the weather is beautiful. There is a small zoo, too, but it’s outside the town. The children’s farm that could be something, or a playground, because kids need to roughhouse, run, and play. But no, it is decided: They are going to the museum after all, although it appears that not every grandchild is happy with that. Vacation time is not easy.

It’s Thursday and then there is always a flea market in the center square of town with antiques, curios, and books. “One Euro a piece, ma’am, and three for two Euro,” a dealer offers. He sees me looking at a book entitled: “Erotic Cookbook.” “Cooking is erotic, lady,” he says. “No,” I correct him, “It’s not the cooking itself but the prepared dish that’s erotic.” I think about the woman I just saw sitting on a terrace, devouring an éclair. That’s what the dealer meant, too, that it is the flavor of the food that is erotic. But then he takes another attentive look at me and notices that I no longer belong to the youth of this earth. “I have regular cookbooks, too,” he says. The message is clear; he thinks I am much too old for an erotic cookbook. However, I have no interest in any cookbook of any type at all, none of the books he has on display actually, because our house is already overflowing with books right now, including cookbooks. No deal for him, no purchase for me. I move on. The sun makes the city look celebratory. Racks of discounted clothing, which looks more colorful, the barges in the canals filled with expectant tourists, the terraces are full. People look happier. Ahead of me, two young women are licking their ice cream. From a terrace a young man calls out that he wishes he was one of those ice creams, while his table partner teases that he finally should come up with a more original line. The women chuckle and I can’t suppress a smile either. Indeed, think of something else my dear man.

A sunny afternoon in town with good-humored people all around me, but still, those women with their ice creams do manage to quickly bring my mood below freezing. They start a conversation about the famine in Africa while licking their ice cream, complaining that those images upset them. That they can no longer watch pitiful children and their thin mothers. I don’t know why, but I continue to follow the women while listening to their conversation, although it’s no less than an exercise in self-torture. They no longer donate to charities because there’s no point in that, they state, which I do not agree with because there will always be disasters but much good is being accomplished with money. “Besides, “they say, “Who can guarantee that it ends up with the right people?” That’s under supervision, there are anti-corruption agencies founded and judges educated in the subject. “As a matter of fact,” says one of the ladies, “life here is expensive enough.” Indeed, life is not cheap, but as long as there is money to spend on vacations, nightlife, terrace visits, computers, and so on, surely one can spare a bit for an emaciated mother and her sick child, I think. But say that to two complaining young women who think differently about these type of matters and who click away the TV images of famished people. An afternoon in town. A grandma who discusses with her grandchildren what fun thing they will go and do together. A conversation with a book dealer about an erotic cookbook, and happy tourists lingering on full terraces. What contrasting images to famished Africa. Two ice cream licking women who complain that donating money is useless. Thankfully, there are people of a different opinion, such as the carillionneurs who are playing “We Are the World” on their carillion all over The Netherlands during the action week of the Cooperative Help Organizations. “So we all must lend a helping hand.”

Translation: Maria O’Neill