Pentecost, Mother's Day, Men, Dr. Betts in Lebanon, 1st Kir of the Season

So!

It's 19:42 or pushing 8pm here, although from the light, one would guess about 4pm. Dutch summer light is very sneaky. It's been unnaturally dry here, with blazing sun, about 75 degrees or quite warm, for nearly a week, and the Dutch (and everybody else) have gone a bit mad, sitting out everywhere, basking like blind moles. My primroses collapsed and the hydrangea nearly did, too. I gave them all buckets and buckets of water today, and they'll likely revive, but summer is here -- at least, for a little while.

Summer here seems to come in late April and last until late May. Normal summer here (June through August) can be quite nasty, with chilly weather, wind, hale (yes: little frozen pellets) and generally hostile forces. So, one seizes the day here. If nice weather is on the charts, people take off, since there's no telling how it could be next week.

Tomorrow here is a national holiday, Pentecost or Whitsun, or in the Bible, the day 50 days after Easter . . . well, you can see its history on Wikipedia. In any case, Holland being a largely secular country, I'm boggled that this and several other days are still national holidays. Jews and Islamics must be very annoyed. Still, a holiday is lovely, whatever its reference, and mine will be quite lazy -- maybe a long bike ride.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pentecost

Today is Mother's Day, and I tried to reach mine, who is living with my younger brother in Erie, Colorado, about 20 miles north of Denver. Mom is holding on to life, but not very well, and I admit to hoping to hear that she has gone in her sleep. For those of you reading who know me well, you know that I sorted out her life after the first two sets of strokes, starting in 2003 (move from her home to a luxe assisted living, then to more assisted living after the second crisis). My brother is now coping, I hope, with her living with him and his live-in girlfriend after the third stroke crisis, and I doubt that he knew what he was getting into. No matter how well one recovers from stroke, the weakening remains, until the next one. I've missed my mother, since she had her first strokes, since while she was emotionally softened by the strokes, she lost some of her oomph. When my time comes, I hope to be living with someone who loves me enough to give me an overdose of something.

Men: I continue my quest for a partner/husband on match.com, with interesting, frustrating and unexpected results. What does amaze me is that men, regardless of their age, often choose no alternative to ending even a correspondence but to go silent, like 12-year-olds. I'm sorry to be so annoyed in print, but I've been writing to a very compelling Scot, tied with one other man (my pal Tim, the London economist) for most intelligent, best read, most cultured for best match.com-er, but it seems that he's disappeared. This drives me wild. I don't know why! Perhaps it had nothing to do with me, but it's hard not to take it personally (the cardinal rule in these situations is not to take it personally, but it's impossible not to). We never even spoke! It was a month of the most compelling letters I've ever exchanged with anyone. He's brilliant, deeply cultured and funny. So, I've leapt back onto match.com, seeking the illusive Mr. Not Bad.

And my life-long friend, Dr. Betts, whom I've known since about age 15, is in Tripoli, Lebanon, likely listening to machine gun fire. He has lived twice in Lebanon, both for extended periods, but will retire to Greece in August. I'm due to fly out in late May, to sing in his last set of concerts. I've bought the ticket with KLM, but may have to try and get a credit of it. Dr. Betts wrote yesterday that things were NOT good. It's so annoying, and so predictable: virtually every year in May, some sort of strife goes on there. It's my last chance to visit the most fascinating part of the world I've yet seen, with the world's best tour guide. Last visit (1995, I think), we went into Syria, saw the famous Crusader castle, Krak des Chevaliers, which is mammoth, and had superb food in Syria and all over Lebanon. I saw the exquisite Lebanese girls and met lots of expat friends of Dr. Betts. Since I have no intention of visiting Israel, this is my last chance to see safe parts of the Mid-East.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Krak_des_Chevaliers

And tonight I'm having my second Kir of the season. I adore Kirs, ideally with champagne. The one tonight is with ordinary white table wine, but nonetheless is lovely.

I find it hard to be philosophical about things like men and the Mid-East. Neither is sensible. The two bits of good news are 1) that Mr. Obama seems to have secured the Democratic nomination (he certainly has my vote), rising above the sewer politics of Mrs. Clinton and 2) I'm promised that my employer will get me a permanent residence permit sometime soon.

So, it's time to sign off and go cook the stir-fry. Stay safe, everyone.

Love,
Pamela