On the very best kind of logistical note: we are off to Indonesia for two weeks of "muck diving" — i.e., the kind of diving where one scrounges around on a sandy sea floor in search of strange and wonderful creatures like the mimic octopus. We will be completely, delightfully off the grid for the next two Mondays and so Peanut Cheese will be on hiatus until September 14 (or thereabouts).
We've had our eye on Indonesia since we moved. Actually, we've had our eye on Indonesia since about 1997! But we had hoped that it would be easier and cheaper to get to Indonesia from the Netherlands than it is from the U.S., in part because Indonesia is a former Dutch colony.
It was definitely a no-go on the cheaper part, but as a consolation prize, we occasionally encounter Dutch people of a certain age who still refer to Indonesia as "The Colonies."
Or who express longing regret that Indonesia is not still a colony, since to them, the best possible situation was traveling to a tropical paradise and still being able to speak Dutch.
I find this sentiment both charming and vaguely horrifying.
For my part, I am hoping not to speak Dutch at any point while on vacation.
Though it has infected our everyday conversation so that now John and I speak a largely incomprehensible pidgin of English and Dutch at home.
For example, the Dutch use the phrase "volgens mij", which literally means "following me", or slightly less literally, "according to me." It's used all the time as a casual interjection along the lines of "I think" or "If you ask me".
But the literal translation is irresistible, and so I find myself speaking in English and adding "according to me" to whatever it is that I'm saying. According to me, we need to leave at 9 to catch our train to the airport. And so on.
In other logistical news, I'm thrilled to report that the painting is finally done! (And that I finished with about 4 milliliters of paint to spare.)
My final hurdle was painting the mustard-yellow built-in bookshelves, and they are now busily curing. Our plan is to triumphantly move our books from the floor to the shelves when we return from vacation.
The end of painting has meant the beginning of hanging art on the walls, which is great because it makes us feel like we have a home again and not like we crash-landed in an abandoned warehouse that just happens to be in the Netherlands.
The not-so-great part is that each and every hole in the wall requires a thick masonry drill bit, a plastic anchor, and all of the manly drilling power that John and/or I can summon. And a vacuum cleaner, for clearing away the pile rubble when we're finished.
There's nothing quite as suboptimal as jackhammering a 1/2-inch hole into a freshly spackled, meticulously sanded and carefully painted wall in order to hang up an 8x10 picture frame. According to me.
