The Crazy Dutch

Last night my family and I traveled out of our zip code for the first time in ten days, and initially, I must admit, it felt like we were undertaking an expedition through the North African desert. Do we have the necessary items - water, diapers, a change of clothes, non-perishable food in the event we become stranded? What about a thermometer? Eventually we managed to get out of the house, into the car, and onto the long highway that would lead us to the dwelling place of, what I refer to as, the Crazy Dutch.

At first one might assume by my descriptive crazy that I am not fond of this family, but really it is quite the opposite. I use the term crazy quite a bit, more than someone would with a more heightened sense of vocabulary. But there it is. Crazy, for me, is to be very talented, witty, and above all, possess that joie de vivre that is so rare today in America - a great willingness to laugh and be laughed at.

This might be the right place to mention the time Viktor, while reading the Hours before Liturgy, chanted out in place of God loves the just, God loves the Dutch, sending the entire choir into a crescendo of giggles and snorts. The fact that this happened over a year ago, and that I'm still talking about it raises question about my level of humor, but we do get a giggle or two still out of this anecdote, though perhaps no longer a snort.

The purpose of our visit was dinner - and what a marvelous dinner it was. Anya, who has quite a bit of English in her - how I love the way she pronounces neither, tomato and controversy - made not only roast beef, roasted potatoes and Yorkshire pudding, but a chocolate mousse and summer pudding as well. I was quite a glutton and helped myself not twice, but thrice, to the Yorkshire delight. At table we talked about various things - Church life, literature, physics, Australia, music, education of children, Tiffany lamps and wine. I tried to add a remark or two between deciding when it would be somewhat polite to ask Viktor to pass, yet again, the Yorkshire Pudding.

After dinner, we were presented with a variety of gifts - a wooden book of farm animals for Pavel, Tinker Toys for the feisty Sasha, The Dangerous Book for Boys for my husband, and, for me, the soundtrack to Les Choristes (and some Swiss chocolates, bien sur). I was quite touched by their generosity and thoughtfulness, as I was really expected nothing.

A fire was crackling in their wood-burning stove, Choral music was in the background, and we nibbled away at our desserts and drank coffee with hot milk. At one point, Viktor, Anya and I went to the piano and played out and sang some new music for the Liturgy - Viktor jumping back and forth between Tenor and Bass, and Anya - Alto and Soprano.

Seated back around the fire, Viktor began talking about Christmas Day, and how we had celebrated it. I remarked it was one of our nicest - snow on the ground, a good dinner, just sitting around together with our children listening to Christmas hymns.

"Yes, we did a similar thing. Sat around the fire, all five of us reading books, listening to music -" I was not taken aback at this picture, but then I was. To sit around a fire, with your three teenage children (now no longer children), and just read together, listen to music. I could ask for nothing more, that my two sons, when grown, would want to spend time sitting with their mother and father on Christmas Day.

I think this very much attests to the kind of people these crazy Dutch are. It was a delight to be in their company, and it was one of the best evenings I have had away from home in a long time.