alien

Now I don't feel 'old' but it feels several lifetimes ago that I was born in an upstairs room at my great-grandparents' home in the Netherlands. My parents named me Margo Janet after my grandparents Margje, Marrigje and Jan, but when my dad went to city hall to proudly register his first born, the name Margo did not appear on the 'list of approved names'. Seriously. He was forced to officially have me written down as Margot.

the house on the right

From there, I spend a happy childhood (in spite of the added t) in various towns and cities and onto my last Dutch hometown Utrecht, where I went to college. And yes, for those of you who wonder about this, I did learn to walk in wooden shoes called klompen.

Utrecht, Oude Gracht

Thijs was born there, a few blocks away from where his paternal grandfather was born.  All at home, yes.

Utrecht, achter de Dom

My love and I  like to travel and explore. So we started moving to other countries. First, Germany, where Vera and Emma joined our family (unfortunately not born at home, a decision I will regret forever). To be honest, I was not thrilled about moving to Germany. Yet I loved it there and was very,very sad when we moved on to the next country, the United States. And that's where we stayed. Life has been good to us here. At first, we were poor. That was euphemistically speaking 'difficult'. I learned a lot.

Dutch flag with orange wimpel

We've met people from all over the world. We've adapted dishes and customs into our household. Still, what is most familiar to me after all these years and exposure to many cultures, is the Dutch landscape and experience. We've been back, and things do change, but in the end, I'm Dutch. 100%, I believe- I have not found any other ancestry in either line of forefathers/foremothers.

Enschede

If I could have been a dual citizen, I would have become one a long time ago. It makes sense, for example, to be able to vote where I live. And now I can. I became an American. On paper. And I will forever feel ambivalent about this. I wonder what my dad would think about this, and I think he really wouldn't like it. But this he would like: I was given the opportunity to change my name, and I took it. My American name is what my parents intended to name me, Margo Janet Ramaker.

August

It is the month in which my dad was born and it is the month in which he died. I'm infinitely sad today. I so wish that he could have enjoyed life for many more years.

And selfishly, I wish he could have enjoyed his grandchildren far longer, could have seen them grow up into the awesome people they are.

The summer around here has been different than recent years and now I see the leafs turning in the middle of the summer season. It has been less hot and humid, but I am not complaining.

My love and I have spent some time outside in the morning this past weekend- before my day shift started and before the mosquitoes moved in. I made nut bread, and we are gradually rearranging the left-over things after the young adults have picked and chosen what they need in their new abodes.

I tried a recipe for crusty bread that has been circling the social network sites- the dough will ferment over 18 hrs or so, and then you bake it in a cast iron pot. Yum, it tastes a little like sourdough in San Francisco.

And so it goes. Life goes on and needs to be enjoyed while I can. People say all kinds of things to you when you lose a loved one, such as ' he will live forever in your heart'. While that may be true, is it also true that missing my dad keeps hurting. Even though I am lucky to have 39 years of memories, many more years than the kids in my grief group have had with their loved one.

I finally bought a frame for my original art piece 'nine lives' that I won way back when- I may post a picture in the near future. I got a chance to go to the big store in the big city when my 'baby girl' Vera moved out of here and into an apartment there. She needed somewhat more than picture frames. Bittersweet days, in August.