Itx92s one of the very rare warm summernights of this summer here in the Netherlands. As opposed to Maryx92s house, I donx92t have a nice spot to sit outside here. Yes, I have a balcony but therex92s only the view of a not particularly attractive street with nothing going on in it.

So you can see how streetcafxe9s, as we have them here but which are quite rare in smalltown America (although Holly happens to have three of them, however small a town it is), are a blessing for people like me on summernights like these.
 
I like to read a book while having a couple of beers, so you want to be a bit careful with picking out the right streetcafxe9 for this. I avoid the market square at nights, because itx92s bound to have swarms of noisy teenagers, let alone the main bars street called Stratumseind:

No, I prefer the somewhat quieter Wilhelminaplein, wich lies a bit outside of the centre of town:

Apart for a slightly too loud speaking local man, who thinks hex92s funny because hex92s local and got the accent to go with it, you may know the type, it is the quiet spot Ix92ve been looking for.

That is, until some braindead person inside the cafe apparently canx92t listen to the emptiness of his own head anymore and turns up the music to ten.

What is it that makes these kind of people think that I want to listen to their retarded choice of music, or even if I would have the same taste, that I would like to listen to it blasting at full volume at that particular moment? If I were a pea brain like that I would have gone to Stratumseind in the first place!

To punish them I donx92t order the extra beer I had in mind and leave.

Ix92m here and shex92s there. We belong together but live on diffferent continents.

My only direct family, my brother, lives in Scotland. Shex92s got two parents, two sisters and two brothers living there. Shex92s also got two sons, who are dearest to her, living there, but they live so far away that practically theyx92re almost as distant as I am.

Although I would miss Europe, its history and its ancient cities, dearly, I think I could live in America too. The space and somewhat primitive way of living of smalltown America has its charm.

If Ix92d suddenly be zapped to the wooden bench behind/in front of (this remains a complicated matter, because these houses are orientated in a weird manner) Maryx92s house, it would feel perfectly natural to me, since it is wine hour while Ix92m writing this, which is when we would sit there.

But there are practical problems like an income and a green card. And the fact that you donx92t want to be an employee in the United States, because itx92s like surrendering to the devil.

Well Ix92m sorry but thatx92s how it is. Especially since Ronald Reagan, being an employee became more and more nineteenth century Europe, which is what many nineteenth century US immigrants tried to escape in the first place.

The Gods apparently wanted to drive the point home to me that I really am back in the Netherlands, and thus had me go through a typically Dutch experience just now, which is biking home drunk at night through the rain.

This wouldnx92t be, for the positive thinkers amongst you, a typical summer downpour that finally gives relief to a hot and humid day, but rather the kind of cold drizzle that youx92d expect in late October instead of halfway through August.

The only thing that spoiled the ultimate Dutchness of things were the traffic lights that uncharacteristically, especially for my town, turned green when I approached them, while the normal thing to do for a Dutch bicyclist is to totally ignore any red traffic light.

Today I saw a somewhat older man in the grocery store who made me realize once more how I donx92t want to be dressed when I am an somewhat older man (and by that I donx92t mean my current age of 47 years, for those smartasses who were about to make that remark, this man was in his sixties). In fact, I donx92t want to go dressed like that even now.

The man was wearing a short-sleeved shirt (acceptable), bermuda shorts (not acceptable in the case of a specific kind of legs that some elderly men develop, and this was such a case) and then a pair of black leather dress shoes (never acceptable with shorts).
I mean, either you dress neatly or you wear shorts. The combination of shorts and dress shoes doesnx92t have a feasible solution in this universe.

I have a problem with shorts in the first place, if you want to be taken seriously at any age above forty that is. At an age below forty you may get away with it if youx92re some kind of sportsmanlike type (which I never was anyway) but above it to me you make the impression of either trying to hold on to an age that youx92ve passed long ago, or of having given up hope of looking even remotely acceptable altogether.

One of the most important lessons I learned from my father by just observing him was to never try to pretend to be younger than your age. Especially as a male thatx92s a golden rule.

I remember that when my father was in his fifties, I was looking forward to being in my fifties as well, because he seemed to be so at ease with it. Things seemed to be a bit more easy going at that age, you got nice grey hair and you put on a bit of weight. I myself was ridiculously skinny in those days, so that didnx92t seem a problem to me, and I always found skinny fathers a bit weird anyway. My father was about ten years older than most fathers of my friends, and I liked having this grey-haired father with a bit of a paunch, who seemed to feel at ease with life. Thatx92s how a father was supposed to be, to me.

See, on this picture itx92s my father at a chrismas dinner at home, but wearing a jacket and tie just the same. Doesnx92t that look classy? (never mind de bottle of Maggi on the table). This was somewhere in the late seventies, and he was in his fifties there.
 
Now, in smalltown Michigan virtually every man seems to have given up trying to look even remotely decent, and even very senior male citizens can be seen wearing the most ridiculously sporty outfits.

Maryx92s father however (81, a couple of years younger than my father would have been now), seems to be an exception. When going out hex92ll usually wear a jacket. Even when he takes his wife, his 92-year old (but still razorsharp) sister and other family to this restaurant for breakfast that doesnx92t look particularly classy both from the outside or the inside, but which does serve a good breakfast, and where virtually everyone will walk around in bermuda shorts and a T-shirt in summer, hex92ll wear what sixty years ago probably would have been called a sports jacket, some decent pants and neat shoes.

At home he may dress more casually, but apart from the occasional jeans and sneakers instead of normal shoes (at least what I call normal shoes, because in the US sneakers ARE normal shoes), hex92ll still wear a decent shirt, and no T-shirt with some unintelligable logo or off-topic slogan.

It makes Mary laugh that I find shorts looking somewhat weird. Ix92ll admit that Ix92ll put them on when on a beach or something like that, because it can be very hot every now and then in America, but when going into some town Ix92d like to keep some dignity and not be walking around like an oversized schoolboy.

I donx92t even consider T-shirts to be normal clothing. It seems more some basic means to prevent you from walking around half naked. Speaking of that, walking around half naked seems to be a deeply felt urge in the US, because several times Ix92ve come across this notice on the outside of shops saying x93No shirt or No shoes = No Servicex94.
Itx92s a bit different with females T-shirts, because those often will have some nice design on it. At least some thought has been put in it.

You see, I think about what clothes I put on too, and thatx92s why you wonx92t find me easily walking around in shorts and a T-shirt.

So, tomorrow Ix92m flying back to the Netherlands. I told Mary how strange it is that after having returned everything is so different all of a sudden, and yet so normal.

I have been getting used to this environment as well, in the meantime. This afternoon I even evaded a traffic jam in quite a competent manner, if I may say so myself, by not turning onto the I-75 at the last moment, after having spotted a huge traffic jam there.
Road works have been going on at the I-75 around Flint for some weeks now, and I have the impression that about every two days one comatose American drives into another there. Basically, Ix92m starting to develop the same emotional responses on busy highways here like I have on the infamous A2 highway in the Netherlands, running from Amsterdam straight South to Maastricht.

So I thought I should take an alternative route, after having glanced at the map. It is quite a big scale map,which makes accurately estimating the distances a bit hard, thus resulting in quite a big detour along the M15. As an experienced driver I know that trying to avoid traffic jams often doesnx92t pay off, but this one started well before Flint, and even if a detour isnx92t faster, at least itx92s more interesting.

For a European, the fact that not only streetplans of cities, but also those in the countryside (at least in Michigan) are mostly rectangular, with all roads running either North, South, East or West is pleasingly easy; you can really drive on your intuition when it comes to directions, something you shouldnx92t try in any major European town or whirly country road. You really need a map there.

Then again, maps of those roads in the US would be pretty useless, because the numbers of these roads arenx92t indicated on any road sign. Road signs indicating turns just mention the name of the road. How the hell are you supposed to know those as a stranger? It just so happened that of course we knew that Grange Hall Road would lead home again, so we did get home eventually.

My life seems to be geographically split up; of course I have a life in the Netherlands, but I feel like I have a life here now as well. Apart from Mary, by now I have gotten to know her family well too. My parents arenx92t alive anymore, and my brother lives in Scotland.
Fortunately there is Internet, but it is still complicated.

Some weeks ago I subscribed to a service called AudioJungle, which enables me to upload music that can be bought and then, depending on the licence you get, used for various purposes without having to pay royalties each time it's used.

Ive already recorded some pieces especially for the purpose of background or leader music, but also uploaded some already existing songs of mine here.

With today's technique I can do this independently from which continent I'm on as well; I only brought my Fender Stratocaster guitar, my laptop with Cubase sequencing and recording software, a Line6 Pocket POD modelling amplifier and an external M-Audio soundcard for the laptop. I even got to take my guitar into the cabin of the plane, so I didn't have to pay the quite large sum of 75 euros for excess luggage (it was only 55 euros last year).

I think I am starting to understand how so many Americans get to be overweight, you really have to pay attention when ordering food here. The other day Mary and I went out to get us some icecream cones, and innocently I ordered two scoops of cappuccino icecream, thinking this would mean two x91ballsx92. However, one scoop appeared to contain three of four balls, so some minutes later I found myself holding a cone with a gargantuan amount of icecream on top of it. Somehow you feel you have to eat it all as well, so those were my calories for the next two days.

Sunday morning Mary, her parents and other family and I were having breakfast in a place that actually looks like one of those temporary buildings that construction workers use, but which serves a surprisingly good breakfast (except for the coffee, that is, which is too weak for a Dutchman). I like a good breakfast, so I didnx92t have any trouble with the omelet containing ham and bacon and whatnot and two large pieces of bread, but I really shouldnx92t do that every morning.

Then yesterday we went to the Icecream Social Event in Greenville, where especially Maryx92s parents get to meet many people they know and we could also have something to eat.
This x91somethingx92 consisted of icecream (obviously), pie, one or two hamburgers or a hot dog and French fries. I only took a piece of apple pie and some icecream (again quite a large serving, but this time I didnx92t finish it). On average I get served twice as much food as I need in America, I would say. You donx92t want to be saying x91no, thank youx92 all the time and appear ungrateful, so you do find yourself eating more than you actually want on a regular basis.

I stepped on the scale this morning; 184 pounds, damn itx85

Socially-economically, it would be hard to find anyone further away from the American way of life than me. But still, I like it to be here in Michigan.

Thatx92s because I like the everyday life in the US, the informally polite way of the Americans. Many Dutch people will be fooled by it, because if any Dutch person would behave to you like your average American shop assistant it would mean he or she would want to be friends for life.

Thatx92s of course not what these nice Americans want. Theyx92re just being polite, and the American way of being polite is informal. When a Dutchman is polite, itx92s in a formal manner; x93Can I help you sir? No? Well, please have a look around sirx94 and the Dutch polite person will retreat until you call upon him again. Perhaps the Dutch Polite Person wonx92t even ask you if he can be of any help, because this could be interpreted as an intrusion on the privacy of the customer in question.

I got accosted by some elderly biker at a gas station last summer, while I was waiting for my girlfriend who had gone to the bathroom. We had a whole conversation about marihuana (this is what happens to you all the time as a Dutchman) and why it should or shouldnx92t be legalized. He was in favour of legalization, by the way.

Now, your average Dutchman wonx92t like this all that much, but it so happens that I am myself someone who will start talking to strangers like that at any moment, so when it comes to that America really is the country for me.

It's strange how familiar and comfortable it immediately felt to be back here again after a year. The house, the shops, the roads…

I suppose it's because she made it feel so good to be with her last year.

Because I'm flying to the US again. Yes to the one who put that distance between us of whom I talked in the last post.