Showing posts with label people. Show all posts

Sad news





Today we received the news that my ballet-sister and the ballet-mom of my children has died. It was a huge shock, especially as we planned to visit her this weekend. 

It's a long time ago we met.
She was teaching ballet at the local art-expertise center, together with her sister.
She taught classical ballet, her sister more modern dancing techniques.
Both from an american dance family.
Two very ballet-experienced ladies.

I attended her classical lessons and choreography group.

Like true sisters we had our things.
Like when we were on tour and she got stuck in traffic. The performance group arrived at the location and found a floor which was shined until it reflected heaven. It was more of an area ready for iceskating than for dancing. Even on bare feet we were sliding away.
So we decided to change the worst part into something we could manage.
Yes, we changed her choreography,  bit, but there was no other option not to fall.
One of the other leaders present agreed.
She arrived when we started performing, so we were happy she made it just in time.
It was a time without mobile phones, so she didn't know anything about the change.

We managed to bring the piece without any sliding or falling and looked to her with pride and relief.
She didn't applaud, she didn't smile.
She walked down the stairs of the theatre without any facial movement, and when she was at our level she burst out in an angry monologue, not giving us any chance to say something.
And it all was directed at me.
Only a year later she told me she was proud about what we did and that she understood why we made those changes.

We've had a lot of fun too.
She was able to give her students self confidence, so they managed to do what they thought they'd never be able to do.

Her sense of perfectionism in combination with her knowledge and experience made her into one of the best teachers of the world.
So when my daughter told me she wanted to go to the dance academy when she'd finished school, I gave her the option to be taught by my ballet-sister and told her she would get a lot of criticism, corrections and some bad moods, but that she would also be in the best hands ever.
So we went to her and asked her if she would give my daughter the honor.... 
She did, through the best times, through the worst times, even when we had no money to pay her.
My daughter is at the dance academy now. Well instructed in classical ballet, or should I say: best instructed?

I remember so many of her corrections myself. Even some of her choreographies.  And the silent laughs in the dressing room when we overheard one of the other teachers, we liked very much, who spoke with a huge accent, while at the same time we had word finding problems ourselves, as we both were english-thinking women.
When she entered the ballet studio, she turned on the heating so high, that some people nearly passed out, and I tried to keep a window open and secretly turned the radiators off, until she found out and had the conclusion ready that those knobs had springs in them to save money.

I was raised in ballet without the habit of drinking during lessons.
She liked that very much, but adjusted to the trend to drink a lot.
She taught me to drink during the lessons, like she was my mom, thought loud about movements directing me to give an example. And we had long talks, about all sorts of subjects, because we shared some things in our past. Ballet, performing, being a sensitive and sensible person in the harsh world of dancers, the loneliness, the pains, the strong inner feeling of movement and grace, always, always.

Then she didn't agree with something I said on a friday afternoon, drinking coffee and eating soup.
She didn't agree. Not just like that, but with all her passion an with so much anger, that the schoolleader came out of her office to ask what was happening.
She walked away, terribly angry, so I worried about her and the schoolleader said: 'It's like she's not herself. The people who witnessed it said to me that it was not my mistake, but the whole experience has stayed with me.

What a pity we didn't know more about dementia at that time.

A hip replacement operation made matters worse.
When we visited her she was very happy and kept on hugging us. It was such a happy event.
It was two days after surgery, but she could walk again, even though she was not allowed to do so.
She hoped to be able to dance again.
We had a long talk about how we were feeling with our physical problems, and the strong need to express ourselves in dance.

Then my heart gave up, and we saw each other far less than we wanted. I had so many set backs. so many plans that didn't work out.
She was diagnosed with dementia and suddenly everything we experienced fell in place.
Her angry moods had always been a way to keep a grasp on her reality. She got angry when we changed her security.
We didn't see it.
Would it have made a difference if we had seen it?

Her mind and her body drifted away, far from the stage of ballet, and later the stage of life.
Life was not about performing anymore, but about being.
It was not about teaching anymore, but about being guided.
Slowly she drifted away from the person she was...
and now she is completely gone.

But since the day she died I feel her arm around my shoulder again,
when she said: 'you're my ballet-sister, we're ballet-sisters.'
How I wish to hug her once again,
hold her,
smile to her,
and see her smile.
.

Passchendaele 2017





When you died
by the need to kill
and disappeared for forever
in the mud
of war

when you died
a father, a partner, 
a son, a brother,
and a dear friend,
you were just gone
and none even knew at the moment

The hell created by others
because the lives of you all
are just part of a game
of ego
and false power
took all you stood for
and more

And there you are
a name on a wall,
no grave
but you left us far more

You left us our future
our new generations
You gave us peace.



© Syl

44. Army psychologist/pastoral carer



I'm a R.A.F. daughter.

My father didn't tell much about the war, ever.

But his army chaplain trusted me with many experiences, because we shared our vow of silence.
Before he died he needed experiences to be shared, stories to be told.

It has changed me enormously.
I'm still anti-war, but I'm not anti soldier.
In fact, one of my deepest wishes is to become an army psychologist and pastoral carer.
I applied several times, but they considered me too old... whereas I knew there were women of my age working there.
It has hurt me. As if holding a gun and shooting exercises are the only ways to become a good carer.

I for myself know that our family history of the resistance, and all the hours with the army chaplain have given me a better insight, than I can ever gain with added education (I'm a fully trained and experienced psychologist) and physical training.

A few years ago I was talking with Tony Iveson, who looked during his last years so very much like my gram and father. He could have been my dad's brother.
We were talking about the guilt, that is, he was talking about it, and I was listening.
My reaction made him thank me with tears in his eyes.

He said to persist in applying for the job, because I really have to offer a lot. And in case I wanted to work for the RAF, I could contact him, so he could give me a letter to add to the application.

When Tony died I stopped trying.

More than ever I can do the job, work for and with those people who stand up for peace with their own life.
It's loss of talent....

Thank you Tony and Richard for trusting me with your deep inner thoughts and for seeing me and valuing me. I'll never forget you.

.

38. Singing jazz



It was such a privilege to live in the same city as one of the most famous singers of the world, a civil rights activist, a woman with so many thoughts and feelings that she could understand the young woman I was.

When I told my gram I'd discovered Nina Simone lived in our city, she smiled and told me to go and talk to her. 'Maybe she's lonely as the only black woman here.', she said. 'You're one of the few here who speaks her language fluently, and people always appreciate to be able to speak in their own language when they are abroad.'
I didn't understand what a white, very white student could do to end the loneliness of such an famous person, but maybe she wanted to drink a cup of coffee with me and talk a bit.

That evening I saw her at a concert, hidden in the shadow, listening to the band.
I didn't think, but just went to her and asked her if she liked to drink a cuppa with me the next day. To my surprise she said 'yes'.
It was the beginning of a short friendship.

She taught me a lot. About the human psyche, about racial differences, and about music.

My voice was light and clear at the time. I tried to sing some jazz, but it sounded strange with such an innocent voice. We had a good laugh about it. She liked my timing, the improvisations, and she said I should be older before I could really sing it properly.
So I've always said: 'When I'm 50, I'll sing jazz.'

I did, in the silence of my home, as a tribute to Nina.
But I would love to have some good lessons.

.

What to do with birthdays?



It was so easy when the children were small. I just planned a birthday, with a cake, visitors, decorations and the whole lot, and whatever happened that day, the child was happy.

When they were a bit older, they had wishes, ideas and dreams. A princes's birthday, no visitors, but cake at a railwaystation, a day in the swimmingpool with icecream, and fries at the skatinghall.
We've went through it all. The privilege of a large family.

In puberty some of them disappeared. Wanted to go to the movies with their friends, wanted to go shopping, and some of them enjoyed a day at the beach, with me, and I felt grateful to be included in their special day.

Gradually friend's birthdays with visitors, sitting together on the couch, singing with cake and candles, and talking with the family changed. They dreaded their thirtieth birthday, tried to ignore the fortieth, and despaired at the fiftieth.
In a way sometimes it was a relief, depending on the social behaviour of their friends and family and on their wishes for presents. My creativity to find the right birthday present disappeared with age (and lack of money), and I refused to give bottles, candles or giftcards.

I decided I would go with the flow.
So I developed the strategy to sneak in a question about the upcoming birthday somewhere in the conversation or in a mail, offering the opportunity to ignore the question or jump on it and invite me for whatever might happen. I want to honor the wishes of the person in question, whether he or she might feel old, doesn't want to be remembered another year has gone by, or wants to celebrate life with all who want to be involved.

The result is that I often feel lost at birthdays.

I know what I want myself: a surprise party at a restaurant near a lake or the sea, with lots of old and new friends, my first cardiologist, piles of small presents, candles and cake I'm allowed to eat. I don't mind if it's on my real birthday, or on the day my life could have ended, but went on: june 4th.
I've always wanted a surprise party, but it never happened.

But the birthday of friends?
It's about how they feel, and not about my need to congratulate them.
But on the other side:.....

.......Happy birthday, Hans!


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The re-examination



The government has decided that more people with special needs should get a job.

So today my classic autistic son needed to be re-examined.
The meeting was a combination of the present need for re-examination and a regular re-examination because his evaluation isn't right.

A few years ago I went with him for his first evaluation. We were accompanied by a very handsome and friendly woman of a care-organisation.
We expected he would be considered to be unable to work.
But the doctor who evaluated his case didn't look into the files, didn't read the paperwork, but was delighted by us women, and he started flirting with us.
I could understand he was infatuated by the woman from the care-organisation. But I was a busy mom of 6, not looking very well. Still he flirted with me too.
We received his written letter stating my son was very able to work.

I was furious!
Filed a complained against that so called doctor, and told the woman who was assigned to his case that he wasn't able to work at all, but I didn't want to have another ridiculous examination by a doctor who couldn't find a proper job at a hospital or private practice.
We had a couple of talks, my son tried some daycare, and at last she wrote the conclusion that he wasn't able to work.
When he moved to another city she wrote a good report, the new case manager was pleasantly surprised by it and within 20 minutes of trying to talk with my son told me he agreed with the woman.

But when we got yet another case manager the whole problem started again.
She phoned me and the result was that she proposed a re-examination so his case could be closed.

The doctor was not really friendly, but he was correct.
He had a tick and especially when my son looked at him it intensified. I felt pity for the guy.
He started with a long story, the standard story for the present governmental re-examination, so I had to tell him my son needed a complete review, and why.
Then he started questions, got caught in the daily routine of my son and was amazed by what he heard. But on the other hand: the guy knew more about autism than the docs I've seen the past 10 years, so he was able to ask the proper questions, he got the answers, and soon he came to the obvious conclusion. I saw it in his eyes.
He asked some more.
And then told my son he was aware he was stressed, but that he needn't be stressed. he would keep his benefits ad he was convinced my son was not able to wok at all. he adviced my son to concentrate on tidying his room (which he can't) and gave us a friendly goodbye.

What a relief!!

While I went home I worried about the son of my friend.
Her son is also autistic and he had a re-examination too, but at a different office in another city.
Soon after I arrived home I heard he was told he was not fit to work either.

So good to close all these years of stress.

I know other stress will start next year, when their benefits will be just 70% of minimum wages.
Almost all these young people are in debt, because they lack the 30% income for a normal life in poverty. But the letters they received where full of threats, telling them that if they didn't work they would loose their benefits. It got so bad that I brought it under the attention of the minister and an official letter of the government was send to all the offices telling to stop the threats.
But the constant reminder that you're not good enough for society gives a low self-esteem and makes one feel a failure.
Tht stops now.
They'll get their bit of money to live and that's it.
No nagging social workers anymore.

Phew.

.

Dolf Toussaint has died.



Today it was announced that Dolf Toussaint has died last Tuesday at the age of 92.

Dolf was wellknown photographer who was valued and admired for the way he was able to tell his story not with words, but with photographs.
He taught me that photographs should speak for themselves and one should depict people in such a way that no extra information is needed.
So one should not only focus to get a sharp image of a person, the environment is just as important, and needs a true representation which is at the same time artistic.
Dolf was the first to make photodocumentairies. He portrayed one of the most well known neighbourhoods of Amsterdam, the Jordaan, during one of the most outspoken changes.
He loved Amsterdam and thanks to him we can see how during the sixties, seventies, eighties and nineties not only the housing changed and the overall look of the neighbourhoods, but also how the people changed.
He was also closely connected to politics. Had friends in the government, which enabled him to portray political leaders in spontaneous ways.

He stood up for better working circumstances for photographers and more opportunities.

Present photography is an expression of his influence to make people the center of the story of their environment.

Thank you Dolf for taking the time to explain things to me when I was training as a photographer and journalist. OK, you sold a photo to the magazine I worked for and you got a cuppa, but you enjoyed explaining to me that the attitude of a photographer doesn't give a visible expression on the photo, but that it makes the photo and is as much part of the process as pushing a button.

My respect will be forever with you.


.

Did she just paint herself as a gossip?



Another meeting is over.
Each month a volunteer organisation of our region meets to discuss all sorts of subjects.

After a few meetings I started to get an insight in the ways people reacted, which opinions they have, and some other aspects of behaviour.
Years of being a chairman of some very difficult meetings have brought some experience, I dare to say.

Most people are easy to deal with. It' not a group of people that contains one or two non-speaking individuals. There is a good feeling of equality.. at least at first sight.

This time we had a lot of fun. The weather was outstanding, no difficult decisions to be made and the vacation just around the corner for many., and a new member.

But underneath the surface a bubble is growing, which wonders me, and puzzles me.

There are three women. One from HQ, someone else and me.
It's those last two which are part of the growing bubble.

I've felt intimidated in the past by a certain kind of women.
It changed my attitude and feelings in such a way that quite a few years ago I decided not to compete with them, as I felt their target was attention, self-confidence and social esteem.
These are not my goals in life, except for self-confidence, but I don't want to gain that at the expense of others.

The result of the presence of such a person in a meeting is that I tend to think more before I say something, or I simply keep my mouth shut. (It both speeds up a meeting, so no problem there. LOL!)

This meeting was filled with so much humor and smiles that I forgot my guarded attitude.
One of the hospitals just finished and reported a pilot study which involved telephone calls.
In the resulting changes in protocols a call is involved and she and I have said we would be willing to do these calls.
I've worked in that hospital for years, at a different department and as a researcher's assistant, and I've been present at many meetings in which important decisions regarding patient-hospital communications were made. That provided some insight in the way they deal with important matters there.

So I said that the knowledge that we re not just volunteers, but we will be trained for the job and we are both bound by the laws regarding privacy, as we are both psychologist,s might be positive input in the decision making process of the hospital.

I forgot she is always against statements I make.

It was like some hidden bee had stung her with unknown violence.
She grew 10 cm's within a second and stated that she doesn't feel bound by those laws in normal life.

I still feel flabbergasted while writing this.
The privacy law of psychologists should be a normal social law. What is told to you in a room stays there, unless you need to discuss it with a wise professional in order to help that person in the best way possible.

So it's not her daily life adagio....

Did she just paint herself as a gossip?




.

Bye lovely neighbours!


A young couple they were, 12 years ago, when they entered the house next to us.
They seemed to be nice.
Two young people, trying to find their way in the university, the city and in life.

During the years we've talked quite a lot, not often, but very intense.
When they were busy pursuing their careers, the mailman brought me their packages and when they were home the girls carried the mail to them and received a sweet.
It gave me the feeling they took over a bit of what the girls should have had with a grandma.

Years passed by.
One baby arrived, and another.
Wee heard the newborn noises, and the sweet caring guidance in the garden, telling the oldest girl not to make too much noise.
It was like I had a peek into my own past, when I told my children the same in the same way.

And then the news came: 'we'll be moving north...a job....'

Far too quick the day came we had to say our goodbyes.
So I stood there, between the boxes, watching the playstuff of the children piled in the garden.
Two hugs and another quick one at the door.

This morning three cars in the street...

I didn't look anymore
The cars are are gone.
I'm sure by now they have arrived in the north and the little girls are running around in a house full of boxes, or in the garden in the bright shining sun.

They're gone.

.

The only one

Last week I met an interesting young man.
Interesting..., that is...he, himself, considered himself a very interesting person. Even more than a person, a full grown identity.
He was wearing a suit, which was a bit too tight, made from material that was a bit too thin, looking a bit too cheap.
His gestures and other movements were plenty and quick, and it all gave the impression of a kind of ghostly marionette. A talking one.

And he talked a lot.
After a few minutes I just heard some incidental words, like when reading a book just by catching the last words on each page.
When I realized a was regressing into being a lazy listener I tried to catch up with what he was telling.
Turned out he was recognized by two people after being on stage at a public event.
Immediately his story was followed by loud praise of his accomplishments. I couldn't join him, I'd not been a witness of his outstanding performance.

So I asked him a very down to earth question: 'and what are you doing in daily life?'
He was a student, he told me, proud and delighted he could show me his eagerness to learn.
I wondered if he was showing it only to me, or to the whole wide world.
Which year? I asked, pretending to be interested.

He raised his left hand, then his right hand, and with his fingers he formed.... an O.
I made the noise of a question mark, assuming it was enough conversation to keep him busy.
He smiled... for the first time a bit inward.
'I'll be attending next year.'

'OK', I said, imagining telling him I'd rather have a doctor after his studies than before.
'It will be interesting to see ho much you are going to change'.

When he walked away his posture and movements indicated he expected a large audience to follow each step.
I was the only one watching him,
not impressed.
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