Signs of spring

Living in an apartment, I have little to go by when it comes to seeing the arrival of spring; unless I go out. There are of course the trees and shrubs across the road, but it'll be some time before the first green buds will start appearing on their now bare branches.


And this is where Jerome comes into the picture. Jerome is my ficus plant. When I moved into the new apartment in March 2011, my former indoor plants all ended up in my mother’s veranda for a beauty cure. My mother has a green thumb, and can’t stand the thought and sight of plants living in an apartment, where – according to her - they lack the light and air a plant needs to be happy and healthy. Their stay there was supposed to be temporary, until I had settled in and all the furniture was in place, with all the moving boxes unpacked.


However, I’ve lived this situation before, in 2001, when I moved from my first apartment to my former apartment. Knowing my mother she would either take to the plant, not wanting to let it go, either let it ‘die’ gracefully, because it was not healthy or becoming too big to fit inside.

Meet Jerome!

From March till August 2011 I therefore did without indoor plants, except for my orchids, which had a hard time adapting to the new living conditions. In August I realized that my former indoor plants had settled in at my mother’s and that there was little or no chance of ever seeing them again. And that’s when I decided to invest in a new acquisition: an almost 1.50 m tall ficus, which I named Jerome. I know, I’m silly, but I think that every living being deserves a name. And the name Jerome seemed to fit this big plant (the picture above doesn't do justice to its size).

Jerome lives between the television set and the new sideboard. He looked very happy there till last November, when he started shedding leaves. A lot of leaves! At some point, it became so bad, that I thought he would end up bald … and ready for a rejuvenation cure in my mother’s veranda. However, for two weeks now, the shedding has almost stopped and new sprouts are beginning to emerge. Is it a miracle or just the plant reacting to the increasing daylight and the general feel of spring in the air?

Time to part

Don’t worry, the title has nothing to do with me continuing blogging or not … although I do admit that I’ve been absent for a while. But, as mentioned before, February is such an un-inspirational month that I find it hard to come up with catchy subjects to entertain you.


However, today something has come up. Something new and challenging! I want to get on eBay! I’m not keen about the idea, but it’s the only way not to let ‘valuable’ items go to waste.


I’ve mentioned before that my mother is de-cluttering in an attempt to make life easy for me when she eventually dies … which I hope will not be for another twenty years or so. I have also mentioned that my father used to work from 1948 till 1980 as a flight engineer and technical controller with Sabena, Belgium’s national airway company. When in 2001 the company went bankrupt due to ill-management by its new partner Swissair, my father had already died; four years before his lifetime dream’s bankruptcy. I’m so happy he never lived to see the images of the return of the last Sabena flight to its home base in November 2001, where it was given a last salute by the Brussels’ airport fire brigade.

Photo from the internet:
Sabena poster promoting the World Fair in Brussels in 1958.

But back to eBay. In the days that Sabena was still a well-reputed company they used to publish a kind of year-book with brilliant photos of their destinations and achievements over the last 365 days. My father had a subscription to the series and my mother has kept all the volumes since the early sixties till … I don’t quite know. I know they cost 300 Belgian Francs then (+/- 7.5 euro nowadays). I also remember us being very proud of them  showing them all the time to whoever was interested.

Now my mother wants to chuck them with the waste paper. I just can’t bear the thought. But I don’t have room to keep them myself. As I’m an only child having no children of my own, I think it would be right to ‘offer’ the books to someone who really appreciates them: a former Sabena employee maybe who has (grand)children and who feels the same pride my father had towards his employer. So I want to sell them on eBay. That way I’m sure they won’t end up with someone who has no respect for them. Have you ever sold anything on Ebay, and can you give me some tips! I surely would appreciate them? Thank you in advance.

Cuberdon, aka ‘neuzeke’

The photo I posted yesterday didn’t do the mystery ‘object’ justice. The dim light in the restaurant where we were presented with this little delicacy gave it a somewhat unattractive brownish look. The ‘cuberdon’, because that what it is, has a deep red and very appetizing colour, making it quite irresistible. But what are ‘cuberdons’ and what makes them so unique? Here is what Wikipedia says about them (my translation):


A ‘cuberdon’, aka neuzeke (Flemish dialect for tiny nose), tsoepke (Flemish dialect for tiny top) or Gentse neus (meaning Gent’s nose, Gent being the capital of the Belgian province of East-Flanders and original hometown of the cuberdon) is a Belgian cone-shaped piece of candy that owes its name to its nose-like shape. In ‘Belgian’ French it is also known as the ‘chapeau de curé’, the village priest’s hat. The colour traditionally ranges from reddish pink to purplish red. The base is about 2.5 cm wide and the weight varies from 10 gr. to 18 gr. The cuberdon has a hard exterior coat. The interior is soft and gooey though and starts to crystallize after approximately three weeks, drastically decreasing the cuberdon’s ‘lifespan’. This explains why ‘cuberdons’ aren’t a sought-after export product, unlike the Belgian chocolates.

Photo from the internet,  showing the 'gooey' filling.

Cuberdons are made from gum Arabic, a hardened sap that is found on the flowering acacia plant. During WWII this product was impossible to come by in Europe and curberdons fell into oblivion. In 1946 gum Arabic was again imported and a few pastry chefs, who still remembered the recipe, resumed making cuberdons.

The classic ‘neuzeke’ is raspberry flavoured. However, in recent years more than 25 new flavours and colours have been developed: strawberry, cherry, lemon, banana, coconut, bergamot, vanilla, cola, cinnamon, melon, orange, tangerine, peach, apple, pear, kiwi, peppermint, violet, gooseberry, lavender, anis, etc.

Over the last ten years the aroma of the traditional cuberdon is used by oenologists to describe the taste characteristics of wine. Cuberdons are also recognized as a regional product (comparable to the prestigious AOC – Appellation d’origine contrôlée in France) by the VLAM (Flemish Food Marketing Board).

-------- end of the Wikipedia input.

And there seems to be no way of stopping the cuberdon's popularity, since two years now you can also get cuberdon flavoured ice cream and cocktails.


The cuberdons in yesterday’s photo came with the coffee at the restaurant where my friend and I had lunch last Friday. The best way to eat a cuberdon is to bite off the top and to let it meld in you mouth. Next, you discretely slip the tip of your tongue in the part that’s left, and wiggle out the gooey raspberry filling. Finally, you put the round base in your mouth and enjoy its sugary and crispy texture. Is you mouth watering yet?

February

February is definitely one of the most boring months of the year, unless you like to celebrate Mardi Gras ... which I don't. So, I'm just sitting this month out, so to speak, waiting for Spring to arrive.

As I have little or nothing to report, here's a little quiz. It's been a while since I've posted one. Okay, get to your keyboards (and spectacles, to decipher the word verification) and tell me: what are these?

And the answer isn't 'tooth picks'. I just put those in so that you have an idea of the size of the two 'brownish' things. In fact, they are not brown but a deep burgundy red. Any idea?

Spam, viruses and germs

Blogger and the system changing its word verification system seem to be the talk of blogger town lately. On the one hand I find it quite tedious having to fill in two words, especially as one of them is hardly recognizable. On the other, one can’t be too careful. Somehow spammers seem to become more ingenious every day, posting unwanted comments or polluting mailboxes with unwanted ‘propositions’.

Mind you, I find some spam mail rather funny. If I were to believe all the proposals I get from widowed women in Burkina Faso, the poorest country in the world, offering me an 40% share in their late father’s fortune, if I accept to have the money transferred into my bank account, I would be a very rich woman by now! And somehow these fathers have all tragically died in a (real – if you check it out) plane crash, leaving their oil fortune to their one and only, preferably widowed daughter.

You know, a Belgian journalist once reacted to one of these mails, just out of professional curiosity. During the whole process he was followed and secretly filmed by a television crew and the images and situations were really mind-blowing. The ‘widow’ never showed up, of course. Instead a ‘business man’ handled the affairs for her (ahum?). Well, the journalist was asked to pay a sum in advance, to show his honest intentions!!! I’ll spare you the details, but after several meetings with the so-called business man – which always took place in ‘safe’ public places, the journalist had to run for his life, when the adversary started having doubts about the ‘innocence’ of his opponent.

Only partly related to this subject is the new anti-virus software I bought yesterday. My former two-year license was about to expire. So in order to protect my computer against the latest viruses, I’ve bought the 2012 Bitdefender. I know you can get anti-virus for free from the internet, but I’m old-fashioned when it comes to the combination of security and ‘free’! I somehow feel they don’t go together. With my new anti-virus program I can sleep on both ears for the next two years. During that time I will get free updates daily and don’t need to worry about creepy germs infecting my computer.

Speaking of germs: the guy who sold me the software had a really bad cold. I'm not easily put off by that, but in this case it was really bad. So I made sure to handle the box with care and thoroughly washed my hands after removing the plastic wrapping.


P.S. If you have problems posting comments on my blog, please send me an email : mdw.cdk@gmail.com. If it really becomes a general problem stopping you from leaving a message,  I may consider installing 'comment moderation' to make posting comments easier, although I'm against is because it really 'kills' the interaction.

Pillow talk

Last week I bought a new pillow for my bed. Actually, I bought two: one stuffed with goose feathers and duvet, the other with a synthetic stuffing that, according to the label, is 'anti-electric' – whatever that may imply.

I am a very difficult sleeper and therefore tend to spend many a fitful night when not sleeping in my own, familiar bed. There even were times when I used to take my pillow with me when we travelled. But over the years, the beds and bed linen in the places where we stay, have improved. In fact, I sometimes even have the feeling that the pillows I sleep on while on vacation, are more comfortable than the one I have at home. I’ve always discarded this idea though assuming that it is the new surroundings, the fact of being relaxed and the exhaustion after a day of sightseeing that have a positive effect on my sleep.

Being accustomed to and therefore very fond of my dear, old pillow, the thought of having to part with it and replacing it by a new one has always been rather distressing. Two weeks ago, however, I finally decided that it was time for a change. Preparing a package of waste paper for the monthly pick-up, I came across a post-order catalogue of a well-known French table and bed linen manufacturer called Linvosges. As its name indicates this company is located in the Vosges department in the north-eastern Lorraine region.

In the late nineties the Lorraine used to be our favourite September destination. On two or three of our short mid-week trips, we visited the picturesque town of Gérardmer, famous for its beautiful lake, ski-slopes in winter and … Linvosges. On our first visit we spent a lot of time and a considerable amount of money in the factory’s outlet shop. Since then I have been receiving their post-order catalogues on a regular basis.

Although I hadn’t informed Linvosges about my recent move – almost one year ago, can you imagine! – my friendly postman Wim had dutifully deposited their latest catalogue at my new address in December. At the time I had hardly glanced at it and was now about ready to chuck it into the cardboard box with rest of the waste paper, when I noticed a coupon offering a 40% discount on several items. So I gave it a more thorough look and found some beautiful sheets and pillow cases at give-away prices. I also noticed there was an even bigger discount of 50% on pillows. As an extra they were even throwing in a set of three kitchen towels for 5 euros and a surprise gift. No self-respecting woman can resist an offer like that, can she?

I surfed to the Linvosges website, put in my order and paid the online invoice by credit card. Being at the office during most days of the week, I asked the package to be delivered at my mother’s address. And then the wait began. Three days after putting in the order, I received an email saying that my order had left the plant and was on its way. There was no ETA mentioned though. So for a week on end, I dropped in at my mother’s every night after work to see whether my order had arrived.

Exactly a week ago, a postman in a small van deposited a gigantic package, wrapped in plastic at my mother’s house. I waited till the weekend though to try out my new pillows; just in case they didn’t live up to the expectations. It didn’t take me long to find out that the ‘goose’ pillow perfectly fitted my needs. Sleeping on it is sheer heaven. The anti-electric pillow is almost as nice, so I’m keeping it … just in case.

Frozen

Although I haven’t written a lot about the recent ‘big freeze’, we, here in Belgium, have had our fair share of icy cold days, with temperatures in Brussels as low as -13°C during the night and -9° C during the day. In the southern and hilly part of the country they even dropped to -20°C.


The worst day was probably last Monday, when the -9°C day temperature felt more like -20°C due to a stiff north-easterly wind. Another particularly cold day was yesterday. Despite the approaching Atlantic depression that is supposed to be pushing warmer sea air, thaw, rain and maybe some snow in our direction, yesterday afternoon was positively Siberian. At about three in the afternoon I had a small errand to run, which took me some 200 metres up the road from my home. Despite my three layers of upper clothing, I was frozen stiff by the time I got back home, although the walk only took me less than 10 minutes.

A welcome touch of spring ...

Back inside I positioned myself – still wearing all three layers of clothing – in front of the radiator in the kitchen, where I stayed for 10 minutes before taking off my coat and scarf. I spent the best part of the afternoon, cuddled up under a blanket, in my favourite armchair, watching the world go by. I really felt quite miserable and afraid that I was coming down with something. There is a lot of flu around these days …

This morning, however, after a restful night of sleep on my brand-new goose feather and duvet pillow, I felt invigorated and fit enough to ‘tackle’ the icy roads. All weekend long, our weather people have been warning us about the coming rain and snow that would immediately stick to the frozen soil, thus creating a dangerous skating ring.

The first thing I did this morning after getting out of bed was looking out of the kitchen window. The road looked slightly wet, but no snow had fallen overnight. The few cars I saw were driving at a normal speed. While I was getting ready for work, I thanked the weather gods for being so merciful. Half an hour later I stepped out into the road just when … the first frosty flakes came floating down!

Thanks to the relentless nightly efforts of our municipal workers, the roads were covered in salt and not slippery at all. I made it to work without any problems worth mentioning, although I drove very carefully, limiting my speed to 50km/h even in places where the speed limit is 70 km/h.

Right now – I’m writing this during my lunch break and will be posting it later this afternoon, when I get home from work – the sky is overcast. The dark grey clouds look heavy with rain/snow. According to the weather site on the internet, temperatures are between 2°C and 3°C; not really reassuring if you ask me. Wish me luck!

=====

Update: The mere fact that I'm posting the above, means that I got home 'sans problème'. The roads are clear, not a touch of snow or ice and temperatures around 3°C. Let's hope we've seen the last of frost, ice and snow for this winter.

How Félicie came to his untimely end …

What happened before.

Somehow, Félicie had managed to follow my mother into the bathroom, which also holds the laundry machine, as well as a tall closet in which the laundry and cleaning liquids and powders were/are kept. Almost two days after Félicie had gone missing, my mother heard a thumping sound coming out of this closet. When she opened it, she saw the rabbit, fiercely banging his hind legs against one of the side walls.

For almost 36 hours the poor animal had been locked in there after my mother had unintentionally closed the door, not knowing that Félicie had been hiding behind one of the barrels of laundry powder. He seemed alright though and glad to be in the open again with water and food close at paw.

The next morning, however, my mother found Félicie lying on his side by the kitchen door, his little body trembling and shaking. His usually dark blue eyes had turned all red, like an albino rabbit’s. By the time the vet arrived, Félicie was already in rabbit heaven. The vet's diagnosis was very clear: Félicie had died from ‘food poisoning’. Remembering his recent overnight stay in the bathroom closet, we examined the barrels and bags of laundry powder in there. Very quickly our fears were confirmed; one of the plastic bag clearly showed teeth marks and some of the powder was lying on the floor around it.

Years later, while redecorating the kitchen, my parents found a large patch of wall behind a cupboard where the wallpaper had been meticulously stripped. This left them slightly puzzled … until they remembered Félicie, the rabbit that on long winter evenings would spent quality time under that particular cupboard producing intriguing shredding sounds. At the time they didn’t know what it was, but seeing the stripped patch they realized that even a house-trained rabbit will always be a rodent.

This is Félicie!

My mother’s recent and relentless de-cluttering activities keep producing the strangest and most surprising memorabilia. Last Sunday, she plunged her hand in her handbag and, not unlike a magician pulling out a white rabbit dangling by its ears from an upturned top-hat, proudly presented me with a photo of … a rabbit. Here it is!

This rabbit, with its elegant Siamese-cat-coloured coat, lived with us for about 18 months, sometime around 1985. We decided to name it Félicie, a posh name that suited the rabbit’s noble appearance. Unfortunately, by the time we found out that Félicie was actually a male rabbit, the animal had suffered severe mental trauma from being given a girl’s name and had developed a very kinky, yet amusing behaviour, to which it stuck for the rest of its short life.

Félicie was a present from my long-time friend Mati, to whom I had in an unguarded moment mentioned that it would be lovely to have a dwarf rabbit as a pet. I would never have bought one myself though, because a 4th floor apartment with white, wall-to-wall fitted carpet wasn’t exactly a suitable habitat for a rodent, however cute and house-trained it may be.

To make a long story short; one day at work I received a phone call from Mati who urged me to drop in at my parents’ house that evening, because there was a present waiting for me there. She refused to say what it was, but sounded really exited. When I arrived at the house, my mother showed me a large cardboard box that was producing a thumping sound. Inside was this cute rabbit looking up at me with its beady eyes, winning me over in a split second.

Félicie lived with me at the apartment for several months. During the day, I kept the rabbit in a cage under the kitchen table. In the evening or on weekends I sometimes let it run free in the kitchen and on the balcony which both had a tiled floor. Being house-trained, it spontaneously returned to its cage when it felt a natural urge coming up.

During my annual vacation in France, I ‘parked’ Félicie for a week with my parents, where ‘he’ quickly settled in and claimed the veranda as his territory. My mother was so taken with the little critter’s presence that she convinced me that it was better for the rabbit to take up permanent residence there. By November, Félicie was a full member of the household, sleeping on my mother’s kitchen chair and hopping to the door where he stood on his hind legs to attract attention until my father or mother would open the door into the veranda where his litter box stood.

When he heard my father coming home and opening the garage door, Félicie would take up position by the kitchen door, ears pointed and his little nose quivering in anticipation. As soon as my father stepped into the kitchen, the rabbit started running circles around his feet at an incredible speed, with his fluffy back paws often slipping sideways on the shiny tiled floor. This ‘exercise’ usually lasted for about a minute or two. In the end Félicie would literally collapse in front of my father, who could then safely step over him without the risk of hurting the animal.

One day, Félicie went missing. When he didn’t reappear after twenty-four hours, my parents assumed that he had escaped into the garden, where he had been chased and killed by a stray cat. The truth, however, turned out to be even more distressing ... 

(more to come)

Cancelled

Today my mother and I were supposed to have lunch with my uncle and aunt at our favourite Italian restaurant. However, it was cancelled because of the cold weather and ice-and-snow-slippery sidewalks. My uncle and aunt are both ninety and my uncle is walking on crutches since his leg amputation 10 years ago. It's far too dangerous for him to venture out on a slippery soil.

A cob web in my mother's garden. Notice the tiny snow flakes clinging to the frozen threads. Winter, ice and snow can be beautiful ...

So with restaurant lunch cancelled, I have to improvise, as I don't feel like going out for some last minute shopping. Luckily I still have some wild boar meat in the freezer from last autumn's mini-trip to Habay-la-Neuve and northern France. I think I'll do a nice stew with caramelized apples and mashed potatoes. How does that sound to you?


Speaking of France, yesterday I booked six nights in June at our usual B and B in Vouvray. More about that later. Enjoy what is left of your weekend!

Another postcard

Among the 30 or so old postcards that I’ve kept from the original package of approximately 100 that my mother gave me, there is one that I particularly cherish. It dates from July 1982 and was sent to be by Mrs. Denis. I don’t need to use an abbreviation to protect her identity because ‘Denis’ is a very common name, and I’m sure that there are hundreds, if not thousands of Mrs. Denis' living in Belgium and France. Not to mention the rest of the world.

Mrs. Denis was my manager in my first real job. Before joining the company for which she worked, I had had two previous, temporary jobs: the first as a trainee translator with the European Commission, the second as a replacement with a company that imports natural gas from North Africa, Norway and the Netherlands.

Looking back, working with Mrs. Denis was a very enriching experience. As head of the communication department of a Swedish hand tool manufacturer, she taught me everything I know today about advertising, printing techniques, paper characteristics and quality … and a large part of my current French vocabulary.

When I met her for my first interview with the company in April 1981, we immediately ‘connected’. Being childless and the same age as my mother, she very quickly ‘adopted’ me; which had its advantages and inconveniences. For instance, when I made a typing mistake, using the old mechanical typewriter that didn’t have an automatic corrector key, and thus ruining the original document, as well as three carbon copies, she used to ‘reprimand’ me by gently pulling my ear lobe!

I can’t see myself doing the same thing to my young colleagues today. Although they are in their early twenties - my age when I was working with Mrs. Denis - they wouldn’t let me get away with it and might even slap in the face if I were to use this old-fashioned reprimand on them. They just don’t seem to have the same respect for senior (in age) colleagues than we had in the eighties. In fact, some of them even look down on people my age, pretending to know everything better and completely ignoring the advice and help we are offering.

But back to Mrs. Denis. She sent me this postcard while spending time with her aunts who used to live in Chateauroux, south of the Loire Valley. On the back of the card she’s enquiring about office business (this was the first time that I was in charge, without her precious support and guidance). She also writes that it is extremely hot in Chateauroux and that she and her aunts are drinking the ‘occasional’ glass of red or white wine … in order not to dehydrate! Hence the image on the card.

Who left the fridge open?

Last Monday was a particularly gray and miserable day. In and around Brussels some light, so-called ‘moth’ snow fell. For a few hours it stuck to hedges and grass. The roads remained clear though and traffic was fluid, except during the usual evening rush hour, between 4 and 7 p.m. All day temperatures oscillated around +5°C.

When I left for work at half past six on Tuesday morning, the thermometer in my car indicated a skinny +3°C inside my garage and -1°C once I was on the road. This morning however, the garage temperature had dropped to an even skinnier +0.5°C and by the time I was 1 km up the road, it had dropped to a bone-shivering -8°C. Clearly someone up there had left the refrigerator door open!

It isn’t as if we haven’t been warned though. Since last weekend our friendly weather man Frank has been telling us about the Siberian bear that was lurking in its cage in northern Russia and the increasing probability that it would soon break free to invade Western Europe. Apparently it did so overnight.

This afternoon: a British Airway plane taking off from Brussels' Airport
against a steel blue sky. I wonder what the temperature is like up there!

Despite the steel blue sky and the radiant sun, the north-easterly wind makes it feel as if it is 10°C below zero right now. And worse is yet to come, with forecasts of -12°C in Brussels and as low as -18°C in the east of the country. Not something I look forward to, but as long as it stays dry, I don’t mind too much, although it will probably affect my gas bill.