A brand new year
5 Januari 2017
I am crawling back from the grave. On Christmas eve the Grim Reaper has stood by my bedside and watched over me: would she (for me, it's a she) have to take me to the far away lands? Deep down a deep well I laid, and awaited my lot. Calmly. Resigned. Like the animals do. If it comes it comes. If I have to go then take me.
I was hugely surprised at that. Always thought I would be the first to panic.
Now the danger seems averted. I undertake the dreary journey to recovery. Today I climbed a flight of stairs, if only at a slow pace. To yet again be able to reach the loo on the first floor is a great logistical relieve if you know what I mean.
So of course I spent New Year's Eve in bed. My home is in the center of Amsterdam, I didn't miss much of the excitement (read: noise) of the fireworks. Well after midnight when it all begun to subside I dosed off a bit. But then a series of explosions wakened me. To my delight a neighbour had fired a really nice long light show right across the water, and even from my lying position I could watch all of it.
Having one's birthday at dawn on New Year's day is always a challenge of persuasion. One has to prevent feeling all too special: THE FIREWORKS ARE NOT FOR ME. Year after year after year, this remains the mantra of the New Year's born. But this first of January it did feel as if the fireworks shone for me. As if the splendour of life which oozes through our senses was recalled to my mind, whispering: don't go just yet...
Happy, Happy New Year my dear mortals. It jolly is a grand thing to be alive.
As Roy Scheider in All that Jazz every morning at the mirror, splashing cologne on his chin, wooing away luring specter Jessica Lange: "IT'S SHOW TIME!"
