She leaned in to see the screen with her eyes squinted. As I watched her face, her eyes grew wide.
“Oh, Summer Breeze, wait until you see this! Our fifteen seconds of fame has gone global!”
Apparently it took Jelle very little effort to find us on a young American woman’s blog about her vacation in Amsterdam. I don’t know what key phrase he entered under “images on the Web” to bring us up, but there we were. A couple of Sisterchicks in a wooden shoe. Noelle had her back to the camera, but I was facing the photographer.
And I was waving.
I had no idea I looked so ridiculous. Well, I suppose I had some inkling. But seeing the photo in that cartoonish wooden-shoe boat, with my goofy grin and my hair going every which way…well, it was hilarious. I couldn’t deny the shot was laughable.
“I can’t believe how many ridiculous pictures have been taken of me since I arrived! First with the sea gulls and now this.”
“You are making your visit memorable,” Jelle said with a little-boy grin on his face. “Memorable for many people.”
“If my children had any idea what I was doing this week…or Wayne! Wayne will never let me out of the house again!”
“I will e-mail you the link.” Jelle’s face still sported a cheery grin. “We can paste the rest of your family into the picture, and you can use this for your Christmas card.”
I loved that Jelle felt comfortable enough to tease me.
“Don’t give her husband any ideas,” Noelle said.
Jelle went to the couch with the laptop. “Let’s see if we can find more photos of you in the wooden shoe.”
His search was in vain, but it didn’t matter. We had the one shot, and it pretty much said it all.
“I will check tomorrow for you.” With mock sincerity Jelle added, “My fees are good.”
“Your fees?” I asked.
He turned to Noelle and stated something in Dutch. She replied in Dutch, and he turned to me, ready to make his meaning clear.
“I have a discount this week on my fees for blackmail.”
I laughed. Jelle seemed pleased with himself
We calmed the conversation down and sipped the coffee. Jelle held out the plate of stroopwafels. I took one, thanked him, and bit demurely into it.
Remembering the hand motion Noelle had shown me when I first had arrived and we ate the delicious apple tart, I put my open palm to the side of my ear and slowly waved my hand back and forth, as if I were fluffing up my hair.
“Leper,” I said.
Jelle went from looking almost impressed to looking surprised.
Noelle burst out laughing.
“Uh-oh. What did I say?”
“You said ‘leper,’” Noelle told me. “Like a person with leprosy. I don’t think that’s how you wanted to describe Jelle’s special treat.”
“No. Definitely not. What was the word you used the other day when you looked like you were fluffing up your hair?”
“Lekker. It means ‘delicious.’”
“Yes. That’s what I was going for. Delicious. Lekker.”
Jelle looked thoroughly entertained. I was content to know that I had provided the dear guy with so much to laugh about. I was sure he would remember me long after my visit.
As I headed up the stairs to my guest room for the night, Jelle called out, “Slaap lekker.”
I turned to Noelle for translation. I was pretty sure he had said “lekker,” but what was he calling delicious?
“He’s telling you to sleep deliciously.”
I laughed as if it were one of his clever sarcasms.
“He’s not making a joke,” Noelle assured me. “We say that here. Slaap lekker. Sleep deliciously.”
“Well then, slaap lekker to both of you as well.”
“Very good!” Noelle pointed at me. “You just proved you are no longer a Dutch language school dropout. Well done.”
“Thank you. And by the way, at what time do I show up for classes tomorrow morning?”
“Breakfast will be fruit and bread, and it will be available for you anytime after seven.”
The next morning Jelle announced over the dark coffee he had made to accompany our fruit and bread that he had decided to accompany us to Delft. “For protection.”
“Are you saying you need to protect your wife from me?” I asked.
“I am saying I need to protect both of you from owners of floating wooden shoes that you just happen to meet along the canals.”
“We learned our lesson,” I said. “We’ll avoid mishaps this time. I promise.”
Noelle gave me a wary look. “Based on our record, I’m not sure we can make such a promise.”
“You’re right. I have been a little more event prone than I ever am at home.”
Jelle rubbed his hands together as if I had just announced I was treating him to a big, fat, juicy steak for dinner. “If that is the situation, then I think I will come along just for the photo opportunity.”
At the end of all his teasing, Jelle went to work, and Noelle and I took our chances visiting another city without his protection. We did have to promise that we would provide full disclosure of any and all photos of any and all mishaps along the way.
He said he was going to start his own blog and my visit would be his premier topic.
“I honestly think I got all my mishaps over with during the last few days,” I said. “Today will be boring. Nothing blogworthy will happen.”
Jelle kissed Noelle good-bye. “If the two of you have more expensive damages today, I want to know about it.”
“I told you I don’t plan to provide any more blog material,” I said.
“No. I want to know for my credit card company. I have to make sure I have a big enough line of credit for the charges if you’re going to lose any more bicycles in the canals.”
Noelle playfully pushed him out the door, and we organized ourselves for the drive to Delft. I felt bad about the expenses that had added up since I had arrived and offered to pay her for gas. Noelle assured me Delft wasn’t far, so I should drop my insistence about paying for the petrol. She also said she had a secret parking area she knew about that charged less than the high-rise parking.
As fun as the train had been on previous days, I was glad we were in sweet little Bluebell once again and puttering down the roads that were becoming familiar. I’m sure my deep American roots prompted my response, but having your own car on call whenever you need it gives you a sense of independence. I knew it was possible that my grasp at all things independent could fall under the category of needing to be more in control. Whatever the reason, I was relieved when Noelle said we would drive today.
The other reason I was grateful we were driving was because I had rubbed a blister the day before with all the walking we had done. I had taken care of it that morning and made sure I had extra bandages with me, but my heel still was sore. I was hoping the amateur first-aid job would help me not to rub the same spot.
Outside, the day was shaping up to be pleasant with clear skies. In the few days since I had arrived, it seemed clear that spring was coming to stay. Flowers seemed to be popping up everywhere—along the road, in planter boxes under windows, and even in front of highway signs.
I couldn’t prove my theory, but the grape hyacinth seemed to be a deeper shade of blue here than at home. The daffodils definitely hung on longer than where I lived. In various shaded areas, where an entire bulb garden burst out of a barrel planter or a painted box, I noticed a number of deep yellow daffys still blowing their trumpets beside the unfolding tulips.
The tour book was right. Spring was the time to visit the Netherlands. The best time, I’m sure. Although I would be curious to return in the heat of the summer and see what the beaches on the North Sea are like with swarms of visitors. The long stretch of eating places that edged the pale sand indicated that the place would be hopping with business when the weather was conducive.
As we drove closer to Delft, Noelle pointed out ano
ther windmill in the distance. The landscape was so flat it was easy to make out the distinct shape of the four arms. This particular windmill looked like the front of a single-engine airplane that had made a perfect landing on top of a grain silo and had decided to stay there. The variety of windmill styles surprised me.
“You live in a beautiful place, Noelle.”
“Yes, I think so too. I don’t like a few things, but any place has its list of drawbacks as well as positives.”
“What don’t you like about living here?”
“Some winters are worse than others. I grew up with snow in Wyoming, so I don’t mind the cold and wind so much. What I have a hard time with are those bleak, freezing days when the sky is gray, gray, gray. One or two such days here and there I don’t mind. I make soup and bread and wear my wool socks around the house all day. But some winters we have weeks of gray. That’s when I miss the wild, blue, winter skies of Wyoming.”
Noelle had been inching her way down a narrow street in part of what I assumed was Delft. It was a close stretch of bumpy road, but she managed to fit Bluebell into an end parking space.
“So this is your secret parking lot?” I looked at the backs of rundown buildings that appeared to have been built right after the war but never had received any more attention.
“Not much to look at, but it works.”
We locked up the car and were on our way to see the city of Delft. Within a few blocks I could tell I was rubbing the bandage off my heel.
“Could we go back to the car? I need to fix this bandage.”
We turned around and retraced our steps to the parking area. While I took off my shoe and peeled off my sock, Noelle made a phone call. She was watching my paramedic skills and at one point made a face. Reaching around me and opening the glove compartment, she took out a small first-aid kit and handed it to me. With the phone pulled away from her ear for a moment, she said, “You’ll find some first-aid cream and plasters in there.”
I wasn’t sure what a plaster was but quickly figured it out. Her plasters, or Band-Aids, were larger than mine and covered the area with a much firmer sticking power.
“All set.” I put the kit back in the glove compartment.
She was still on her cell but mostly listening. With a nod Noelle locked up the car, and we started on our way into the center of Delft once again.
As we strolled down a canal road similar to the ones we had traversed yesterday, Noelle continued her call. I didn’t mind that she was multitasking, leading the tour into Delft while being on her phone. She had hardly been on the phone any of the other days we had been sightseeing. I knew that if she were visiting me, the opposite would be the case. I was on my phone a lot with our children when I was home.
I wondered if any of my children had called while I was gone. I was sure the girls had checked in with Wayne. All three of them had a soft spot for their dad. I wondered what Wayne had told them. I had left in such a flurry all I did was send a short e-mail to them, saying that an opportunity had come up for me to go to the Netherlands to meet Noelle. I gave the days and times of my flights and told them I loved them. That was all. Short and sweet, as if what I was doing weren’t out of the ordinary.
As we walked over a footbridge spanning a canal, I stopped and took in the view. Noelle stopped walking and stood a few feet away, finishing her phone call.
The houses that lined the canal road were similar to the ones we had seen in Amsterdam. But these houses seemed more ornately decorated. The colors were deeper, more jewel toned than the brighter trims on the brick houses in Amsterdam.
A movie I had seen a long time ago came to mind. I couldn’t remember the name of it, but it was a spy movie with a ring of international thieves. The objective was to break into a safe in a house along a canal in Amsterdam.
As I looked at the row of Delft homes from the footbridge, it seemed as if the movie could have been filmed right on this spot. This neighborhood had the same feel as the charming stretch of canal and restored homes in the spy movie.
Also I realized I was becoming so acclimated to the architecture and layout of the canals that everything was beginning to feel familiar. Whatever the reason, I loved the view.
A playful breeze waltzed by, ruffling up the trees and tossing a handful of their pink confetti into the air. In the canal below us, two white swans floated and preened in the blossom-strewn waters.
I was standing in the middle of a fairy tale.
Noelle was apologetic once she was off the phone. “I wouldn’t have stayed on so long, but I wasn’t able to get off right away.”
“That’s okay. It didn’t bother me a bit. Look at the swans. Look at this view. I should take a picture.”
“I’m sorry. It’s a rude thing to do around company.”
“Honestly, Noelle, I wasn’t offended. Here. Stand right there, and let me take a picture of you.”
She smiled, but my viewfinder seemed to pick up an unsettled look in her eyes.
“You okay?” I snapped another shot of the swans floating in the pink confetti—laced waters.
“Yes. I was getting the update on Zahida.”
“How is she?”
“Quite good, actually. Her decision is set. She’s not going to return to her home or her family. They made it clear that she’s being cut off from them.” Noelle’s expression tightened. “That’s a very difficult thing for a woman under any circumstance. She’s so young.”
When Noelle made the comment, I saw a halo of sadness in her eyes. The connection between her leaving home at eighteen and never returning closely coincided with Zahida’s situation. I could hear the empathy in Noelle’s voice. More important, I could see it in her eyes.
“Come.” Now I was the one who had picked up Noelle’s quick, to-the-point phrase. “Even though I walk over a footbridge into the town of Delft, I will fear no evil…”
Noelle spontaneously looped her arm around my neck and gave me an unexpected kiss on the side of my head. “You are the best medicine. You know that, don’t you? The Bible says that laughter is the best medicine but—”
“Actually, the verse in Proverbs says that a merry heart does good like medicine. I looked it up once.”
“Fine. Now hush. I’m giving you a compliment.”
I laughed at her brash reprimand.
“Okay, so the Bible says that a merry heart does us good like medicine. The point is, you have been like medicine for me. Your visit, the timing, and everything have been just right. I needed this. You’re a gift to me, Summer. You really are.”
My eyes teared up. “You’re a gift to me too, Noelle. You always have been.”
We hugged each other and strolled into the old city like old friends, joined at the heart.
I want to take you to the market square first,” Noelle said. “After being in Saint Bavo’s Cathedral in Haarlem, you should see the church here.”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to visit another church. Not that I minded where we went particularly. “All I ask is that we see some Delft tiles before the day is done.”
“We will.”
“That’s the only thing I remember you telling me about Delft. They make tiles here.”
“Yes, they do, and they have for hundreds of years. Remember we saw them in Vermeer’s paintings? We can go to a place where on some days you can watch the craftsmen paint the tiles.”
“Wonderful.”
“I also want to take you to a pannenkoekenhuis.”
“Okay,” I said slowly. “Do I want to know what a pan-a-kook-whatever is?”
Noelle’s lighthearted air was returning. “I think I’ll keep you wondering.”
“That’s right. Surprises are your hobby.”
“And you are allergic to suspense. I remember. Don’t worry. I won’t make you wait long.”
“You’re too good to me, Noelle-o Mell-o.”
“Quite right.”
Before I could muster a noteworthy comeback, Noelle stopped walking. We had com
e upon several shops and decided to do some meandering. I hadn’t shopped for any souvenirs and was thinking it would be nice if I returned home with a little something for Wayne and each of the kids. But what?
The first shop was filled with Delft pottery. The distinct, hand-painted blue tiles and pottery were intriguing because each piece was slightly different. The scenes painted by hand on the white tiles included windmills, canals, cows, milkmaids, boys ice-skating on canals, and, of course, wooden shoes.
I had selected four tiles and then put them back. They were heavy. Since we had to pass this shop when we returned to the car, it seemed wise to do my buying at the end of the day rather than haul everything around with me for hours.
The next shop we explored sold kitchen gadgets and a gourmet assortment of what Noelle called “stinky cheese.”
“We can sample anything. If you see one you would like to try, tell me.”
It seemed pretty early in the day for sampling cheese, especially when it was presented as stinky. What I did love about the shop was the understated beauty of how everything was lined up on the shelves and how the rounds of cheese were displayed in the refrigerated case in the center of the store. Everything was just so.
I felt as if I had walked into a modern still life by one of the Dutch masters. Once again it was the common, everyday setting and the people that formed the composition. But the orderliness of the “props” and the soft light through the windows elevated even this cheese shop to a level where I felt touched by a hazy sense of the eternal.
I stood with my head tilted, gazing at the way the light came in through the high windows and changed the visual effect of a shiny metal nutcracker. The gadget was on display next to a very large round of Gouda cheese, so marked with the name on the red wax casing. Next to the nutcracker was a small bowl of walnuts available for demonstrating the nutcracker’s handiness and for sampling the nuts, along with carefully cut squares of cheese. A clean, empty white dish stood ready to the side, a willing receptacle for the unwanted walnut shells.
Noelle sidled up to me and followed my line of sight. “What are you looking at?”