Summer is over (and that's a good thing)

The summer this year was an ongoing repeatment of sunshine, hot weather and hardly any rain. It lasted months, this torture of nature. For me, it came with a decent amount of Blues. I never thought I would experience a summer depression, but I did. I do have a tendency to be melancholic, it seems one of the talents that came along with creativity and an eye for beauty. It struck me that this characteristic took over from the positive ones, while I was walking around in shorts (at the most) taking cooling down showers outside under the antique Portuguese bucket. You would think that life was a joy, that it was as it was supposed to be when The Netherlands were said goodbye. However, I couldn’t see it for a while, that Portuguese dream of living on a hill in this rural vicinity. When I saw beautiful flowers bloom, the only thing I could think of was that they were in the wrong place and grew much too big.

For the first time, I experienced physical complaints as a result of not knowing where to go or what to do, even worse, not even know where to start. The result, in the end, is that I found myself not answering phone calls, avoiding any contact with the outside world except for the odd remark on social media. It’s so easy to pretend everything is going well when you can hide the facts with funny remarks and thumbs-up’s. Lately, I’m more aware that there might be sad stories behind all these “look where we went out to for dinner” and smiling selfies with a glass of wine at some fancy bar. Just the fact that I have a dog to take care of, might have been the reason I didn’t just keep laying in bed. I found myself taking photos with my phone, of me and the dog, and sharing them on Facebook or Instagram as a token of being alive and out there. As making “How to, DIY and recycling” videos is one of the activities that support the Portuguese dream, something in the back of my mind told me to keep visible on social media, although I made only a few contributions to my “Not just sawdust” Youtube channel.

It’s getting colder, the afternoons are getting shorter and we just stacked-up 2 tons of firewood. Being melancholic is valid again thanks to brown leaves and a smoking chimney. But “we” seems to be a cure for most of the dark voices that discourage me to tackle reality. She’s back and that makes all the difference. A few decades ago I used to be that stubborn individual, chasing success, waving away all problems with creative solutions and just denied hearing the haunting voices that wanted me to face the childhood encounters with “situations” which in those days were on top of the list of subjects one didn’t talk about. Losing that individual stubbornness when becoming just one half of a whole is a good thing. It made my life so much more pleasant, secret thoughts were shared, old “issues” were banned to the world of darkness and the gate was barricaded with true love. Last summer I experienced the downside, I am just half, maybe even less. I need the other half to function, to not be thrown back to the dark side because that individual from way back past the point of being able to be rebooted.

Summer is over, for me, for the first time I’m living thru the seasons, it’s a positive thought. It took a few days to connect all the little wires that were cut off for 3 months, but it was a simple procedure and a very enlightening awareness that the ends had no signs of corrosion whatsoever. I’m back as that melancholic partner, with all those side effects as creativity and an eye for beauty. The workshop floor is covered in sawdust again, new projects are on their way to completion and I even found the courage to take on one of my former jobs and started the restoration of an antique painting. I’m talking to the camera again and accept what I see when I’m editing the footage in my little studio. I am confronted with myself, a weekly video seems to have so much more impact than an occasional photo, but the way I look depends on whether I’m functioning as a whole. To have a clear view, to exploit my creativity and skills, to understand the meaning of life as such and to keep my mind out of the shadow, I need my other half. I do understand some others now. “Just get on with it”, seems one of the most hurtful remarks you can make to those who are lost within themselves. It’s an important lesson learned, no matter how convenient some solutions may look, they won’t work if we’re not one and complete.

An online session with a shrink

"You are one of those many new patients suffering from a contra-normalization syndrome", said the online psychologist last night, during a Skype session with the sawdust maker. "Unlike people who simply adapt and arrange to new circumstances, you’re trying to get the speed out of evolution".

Sure, I guess the shrink made a viable point. Here, on the lonesome hill, in the midst of a society where traditions and manners slowly reach the freedom of the 1980s, the need for change is not that obvious. "The dubious symptoms are altruism, complacency, compassion and a thrive for moral magnificence", was the explanation of the man who looked into my kitchen through the webcam. "Suspicious qualities that stand in the way of your personal future and success and even compromise your environment with moral issues that slow down progress".

After a few hours, 6 cups of coffee and half a pack of rolling tobacco, sitting in the dark for a folded laptop, having thought about the diagnosis, I came to the conclusion that being educated, having the allowance to put “Doctor” in front of your name, is not a measure by which one is capable to determine the flaws in someone else's mind. It could, of course, be the result of being exposed to a large quantity of sawdust, but the self-protecting cells in my brain soon started to talk to me.

The new normal, in which the freedom of expression consists of insulting, discriminating and selfishly looking away from other people's persecution, seems to elevate a qualification as focused selfishness to a positive quality that would not look misplaced as the most important mention on a CV. The world around me seems so real, but at the same time so different from the world that is being presented by politicians, fake news writing journalists and talk show analysts. Looking down from the lonesome hill towards the left, the wrong side of the ocean, a historic feudal system is build up at an island not far from the European coast and to the right there’s a worrying process expanding where wannabee dictators maintain close contact with the leaders of populist, racist, homophobic, Islamophobic and anti-Semitic movements, worshipped by a flog of uneducated sheep, relying on the only source of knowledge they have; their lower abdomen.

I know, from here, safely within the thick dry-stone walls of a little house, overseeing the valley, looking at the world from a fair distance, it is easy to ascribe to yourself some moral eminence without having any sense of guilt or being ashamed of the qualities that make one a nice person. As the 78-year-old akela of the Dutch talk show’s wrote in her memoirs; “It wasn’t the Nazi enemy, who took my Jewish father out of the house to be transported to a concentration camp, but our neighbours who quickly conformed to the new normal”. The sawdust maker is going out again today, doing some chores and delivering some produced expressions of creativity, completely inconspicuous in the refugee resort that Portugal is slowly becoming ...

As if we slaughtered our goat and burned our last clothes.

38 Years ago I spend some time in Turkey, from then on many times and even worked there longer periods, but that’s beside the point. I was 15 and stayed in a little village far from modern society. People didn’t have electricity, never seen a video camera and laughed when I showed my invention; a tripod seat to put over the hole in the ground called a toilet. I spend evenings listening to the stories that were told by the older man. The first one that comes to mind is the story about 3 young men who convinced the imam of the village that the world would come to an end at midnight. They met the imam at the riverside where he was washing his goat. “We better eat the goat”, they said, “enjoy a last good meal”. The Imam agreed, killed the goat and told the young men to have a swim in the river, clean themselves for the last prayer before they would roast the goat. They took off all their clothes, jumped into the river and the Imam made a fire. After a while of having fun, they smelled the meat on the barbecue and returned. “First a prayer”, the Imam said and so they worshipped Allah and enjoyed the meat of the goat that the Imam offered for this special occasion. When all were done eating the Imam said; “Now we can wait until midnight with pride, we prayed, we offered a goat, it will all be alright!” He stood up and told the boys that he would wait for the end of the world at the mosk. “But where are our clothes?” they asked. “Well, I used them to start the fire”, the Imam said, “you don’t need them anymore, because in half an hour you will be in heaven”. And off he went... I guess I don’t have to explain the moral of the story.

One man told the story of his grandfather who was always making predictions about the future. He was seen as the village lunatic because he was telling about times to come when he would shoot a çilkeklik (partridge), people on the other side of the ocean could see the feathers in the sky. When I said that he was right about it and we even saw people walking on the moon, I was considered to be a bit strange too. The last time I visited the same village, everybody had internet, a flatscreen TV and most of them a European toilet. Where we in western societies slowly got used to modernities, these people had to cope with all the changes and technical revolution in just one decade. Lately, I’m thinking back to my time over there a lot, realizing that what I saw as poverty back then was in fact richness we can only dream about nowadays. People knowing so much and being so wise without realizing it, facing reality with solutions found in nature and close to home. A few generations later, some people still don’t understand the impact of the prediction made by the old man in the village of Topluca in Turkey. There are still people who think they can share secrets with others, without the risk of them being exposed later on.

Today, (September 5th) me and my love, we celebrate our 15th wedding anniversary, that’s no secret. We are welded together, have the same thoughts at the same moments, know each other to the detail of every spot on our skin, every scar on our soul and know exactly how to use the clutch and shifter so the weakened teeth in our mutual gearbox don’t break. Where one lacks power, the other turns up the energy. When one feels hailstones on the shoulders, the other will hold up a protective umbrella. Both missing some ingredients but when mixed together the ideal base for a spicy dish. We enjoy togetherness in our own way, solve problems our way, finding creative and unconventional solutions to make it stick. Believe me, superglue is nothing compared to that what bonds our relationship. We certainly aren’t average, far from mainstream and miles away from a conventional excepted form of family. We might be seen as “normal” though and just lucky to have the spare parts between each other to make both complete, but we are not two, we are one.

For some, it’s a reason to compliment us with our relation. It’s nice to hear younger couples express their ambition to be in 20 years where we are now (relation wise, on other subjects they could do much better). It’s a privilege to be seen as “successful” among those “youngsters” and to be part of their evolutionary world, where religious burdens and conservative conventions are seen as relics of a past. Therefore it takes much more effort to be accepted by people still living according to their one-sided upbringing, narrowed view on any relationship – other than money making man, child raising, soap-opera watching, household budget spending woman, weekends with soccer and washing the precious car, yearly holiday at the known places, fake Christmas peace celebrating rituals and grasping the hopeful straw of a later in life pension – that is different than their own. They don’t seem to comprehend in which way their expressions are seen and heard of, within minutes after sharing them with a “friend”. The days of spreading a rumour, known to everybody in the village or inner circle of acquaintances, except for the ones who are a victim of that gossip, are long over.

Everything gets out, one way or the other and reaches the ones who it concerns by social media contacts like WhatsApp, messenger or twitter. The problem with “analogue” friends is that it’s not just about pushing a button to “unfriend”, although some think they’re living a modern life and know the ins and outs of the digital world. They don’t seem to understand the concept of friends of friends of friends on a platform like Facebook. Like that partridge feathers on the other side of the world, gossip shared with “close” friends only takes a few moments to reach the ones that it wasn’t meant for. So one could think it’s safe to call me a pimp, sending his wife abroad to work when telling it to someone 2500 kilometres away in another country, instead of walking the few steps back home and tell it in my face. So-called friends, with not even a grasp of understanding about the choices, not interested in the reasons behind such a difficult decision we made as a couple, aren’t worth the discussion. All social media platforms have a blocking option and our house has a front door that’s only to be opened for the ones we welcome. Those feeling superior should watch out on the doorstep, we’re a two-person band, making music like an orchestra, we’re an environmentally friendly engine maintained by the best product you can find; Love. Everybody is welcomed except for the ones who spread the gossip that we slaughtered our goat and burned our last clothes....