It's been a Christmas season full of fun and relaxation.  I've been taking the week off from work (except for having to teach today at Zolder50)... and I have to say that it's been delightful.

In case you're interested in seeing a photographic summary of our holiday stay-at-home vacation,  you can click over to the Family Pictures section of the website.

There you can find images of our family  worshipping with friends from Zolder50 on Christmas Eve, celebrating Christmas at home, and enjoying two different ice-skating expeditions -- one to a neighborhood make-shift rink where the "ice" was actually white plastic, and another to the more celebrated (and expensive) Jaap Edenbaan... The pictures include pretty much everything except for shots of us eating leftovers and watching movies.

I hope you're having a great holiday season, too.

Marci had a rather unusual experience when she went shopping on Monday.  She left our house with an armful of shopping bags, rode her bicycle to the Natural Foods store to get a few items, then rode her bicycle to the regular Supermarket to get the rest of our groceries for the week.  Then, when she was checking out at the cash register in the Supermarket, she pulled out one of the bags that she had brought with her to carry the groceries home, opened it up to start bagging the groceries -- and there she discovered a fat little mouse staring wide-eyed at her from inside the bag.  Cool as a cucumber and discreet enough to avoid a scene at the checkout counter, Marci simply closed the bag and kept the little stow-away secret while she finished bagging the rest of the groceries (in other bags) and checked out with the cashier.

When she exited the grocery store, she made her way over to the nearest trash receptacle (here in our neighborhood, the trash containers are kept underground, with these little receptacles that kind of remind me of the devices used at libraries, video stores, and post offices for dropping in one load of trash at a time).  She opened the trash receptacle and dumped the contents of the one particular shopping bag into the scooped out interior of the trash receptacle.  And there, surrounded by a couple of fluttered and crumpled receipts, the fat little mouse stared up at Marci again -- wide-eyed and trembling slightly, but apparently too stunned to move or do anything drastic -- just before Marci pulled down the lid on the trash receptacle and send the little rodent down to mouse-heaven (a massive, dumpster-sized hole in the ground, filled with all sorts of wonderful smells and tastes from a hundred neighborhood homes).

It was quite the amusing little anecdote that Marci had to tell when she came back from the grocery store.  We figure the mouse must have crawled inside the grocery bag when there was some chocolate sitting inside there, hanging in a little corner of our kitchen, for a few days.  Because Marci seemed to remember (don't ask me how) that it was the same bag, and because we know that mice love chocolate.  How do we know this?  Because we've had lots of experience through the years of living in old urban housing!  The whole incident made me think of our first year here in Amsterdam, when we were still learning how to deal with our furry gray friends.  Back then, I wrote a poem/story to give to Marci that Christmas (this would have been Christmas 2003) -- and seeing how it's that time of the year again, well, I figured I would pass along the old poem to you (the lovely readers of this blog) as well.  My command of the Dutch language was even less extensive than what it is now, so please forgive the errors in grammar and idiom, mijn Nederlandse vrienden.  But for whatever it's worth, here I give you:

The Night Before Kerstmis
(with apologies to Major Henry Livingston Jr.)


'Twas the night before Kerstmis, when all through the flat
Lots of mice were out stirring—that’s what you get with no cat;
The klompen sat under the tree, by the gifts,
Leftover from Sinterklaas’ visit on the Fifth;

Elliot, in his crib, was sleeping like a log,
kept company by his trusty blanket, Elmo, and frog;
And Marci’s icy feet warmed themselves on my thighs,
As we settled to sleep ‘til Kerst’ morn’ should we rise.

When out in the kitchen there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Down the long narrow corridor I flew like a flash,
Turning the corner to hear a horrible crash.

It took a few blinks for my eyes to adjust
I didn’t really want to look, but I knew that I must,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature riot, which filled me with fear,

I should have expected—‘twas the mice, up in arms,
They’d thrown over the pantry; on the food they had swarmed.
They did not scatter as I entered, as their usual game,
Rather they whistled, and shouted, calling curses on my name;

These vile vermin—how wretched—here they sat, in my home;
yet they despised me and acted like the place was their own.
I’d had enough, so I yelled back at them, risking a brawl,
”Now you get out of here!  Run away!  Dash away, all!"

But these mice didn’t budge; so we faced confrontation.
And I admit: I was scared—it was true consternation.
Then up to the counter-top the mouse horde they climbed,
And then they spoke tersely. “We need to talk,” they all chimed.

”Umm…OK.  What’s the deal, fellas?” I nervously asked.
For I knew I was outnumbered; they could take me to task.
Then their leader spoke for them (a little fellow named Nick),
”We know you want us to leave; we’ve seen you try every trick.”

”You’ve tried poison and mousetraps and cleaning galore,
And frankly, we’ve had enough; we can’t take any more.”
So I said, “Well, sorry guys.  But that’s kind of the idea.
Why don’t you just go?  Tot ziens.  Bye-bye.  We’ll see ya.”
 
But I could see that I’d hurt them; they all started to cry.
And I actually felt bad—I’m not exactly sure why.
Nick composed himself, starting to speak (now more meekly),
And he said, “But it’s Kerstmis, sir,” his voice sounding squeeky.
 
 “It’s so cold outside, and there’d be nothing to eat.
But in here, it’s gezellig; a real Kerstmis-time treat.”
And of course it was true; without us they’d be zwerven;
So like the Bethlehem innkeeper, perhaps I could serve them.

Yes, our house was all full (with two adults and a kid),
Still we had a proverbial “stable” to give;
So I said to the mouse gang, “Now I’ve got a plan,
We’ll help you, but you need to help us where you can.”

“You see, we don’t like your poop everywhere,
And you eat all our chocolate that we keep here and there;
But if you curb these vices, and stay out of sight,
Well then you can all stay here; I think that’d be all right.”

“And as for food, I don’t hink that’s a problem at all,
For wherever our son goes with food, crumbs always fall.
And I know that they’re not quite as sweet as cocoa,
But they’re healthier anyway—better for you, you know.”

So the mice thought about it and finally consented;
And I was glad that the pressure had finally relented.
‘Twas a verbal contract, in good faith to be followed,
We’d live together in peace; our words were not hollow.

So the mice scampered to the floor quick as a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard them exclaim, as they crawled out of sight,
“Prettige Kerstfeest to all, and to all a good night!”

At any rate, I wish you all a wonderful Christmas!  I hope you have much fun feasting with family, opening Christmas presents, and reflecting on the miracle of God-Incarnate.  Just remember:  make sure that any leftovers from the Christmas feasting (especially any chocolate leftovers) are properly put away.

I need a haircut.

I had been hoping to make it through the whole winter (like all the way to April or something) without cutting my hair.  I had buzzed it once back at the end of August -- and then one more time again somewhere around the end of September or the beginning of October.  I was thinking that longer hair would help to keep me warmer during the winter months (more insulation on the top of my head) -- and I was curious to see how it would work to let the hair grow for a number of months on end.

But now I know that it just doesn't work.

Without any outside intervention, my hair -- most unfortunately -- tends toward a natural mullet:  short and scraggly on top, but long and luxurious in the back.  The only exception to the true natural mullet is that my hair also grows thick and bushy on the sides.  This was a constant joke among my friends in college; one college roommate even went so far as to suggest that when it grew out, the hair on the sides of my head looked more like pubic hair than head hair.  So I realize that my variation on classic male pattern baldness is my lot in life, and I'm learning to deal with it.  But I'm starting to realize that I cannot deal with it by simply letting it grow out.  A couple of weeks back, I tried another minor self hair-cut, attempting to trim down the bushiness on the sides a bit -- but unfortunately, this only accentuated the emerging natural mullet (I should have just gone ahead and shaved some horizontal stripes into the side of my head to really create the full effect!).

So now I realize that I need a haircut.  But it's just two days before Christmas, and I'm now fearing that I will have to wait until the end of the holidays to fix the situation... Hmm...

As I was dropping off the kids for their last day of school before the Christmas break, Elliot jumped out of the bakfiets with an excited yelp.  He pointed over to the horizon and franctically insisted that I take the picture displayed above (which I had to do with my camera phone).  He said that the clouds looked like a sunset over the ocean.  And it was indeed beautiful, so I did indeed go ahead and take the photograph.

I figured I'd post it here as a demonstration of the northern European fascination with light at this time of the year.  This sunrise, of course, was happening at 8:45 in the morning (it doesn't really start to get light outside until 9:30, though).  And the sun is already starting to set by 3:00 or 3:30 in the afternoon.  The days are very short.  The sunlight is a very precious commodity -- especially when it mentally transports you to a sunset at the beach!

And now, there are only two more days of less sunlight... Then it starts to come back.  I'm very glad.

[Concept for this post inspired by 22 Words and Ernest Hemmingway's six-word classic]

A fine Saturday morning.  Holding hands, I walk -- she skips.

I say, "Olivia, I love you."

She smiles, unashamed:  "Yes, you do."

Our family hosted the annual Staff Christmas Party for Stichting GC-Netherlands (the organization for which I work, here in Amsterdam).  It was a lot of fun.

Our kids got to greet everyone at the beginning of the party, but then they had to go to bed shortly after things got started.  They were given strict instructions to "stay in bed and stay quiet" (these are the big two rules that apply to bedtime every night) -- which they followed quite well.  But apparently, we were having so much fun at our Christmas party that Elliot and Olivia had some difficulty falling asleep.  And even though they obediently followed their bedtime rules (not getting out of bed and not making a lot of noise), we know this because at some point -- quite awhile into the party -- someone discovered a stack of notes, folded up in the shape of paper airplanes, which had accumulated just outside the crack in the door to Elliot and Olivia's bedroom.  The notes read as follows:

So at that point, I peeked into the kids' room and saw that Elliot was still tossing and turning in his bed (though Olivia was fast asleep).  "Hey Elliot," I whispererd to capture his attention.  I held up the notes and smiled:  "Sorry about the noise.  We'll try to tone it down."  He grinned and gave me the thumbs-up, and then rolled back over to fall asleep.

So in the end, we all had a wonderful Christmas party.  I feel very blessed to have colleagues with whom I genuinely enjoy spending time, and I feel blessed to have been able to celebrate Christmas together with them.

Santa Lucia is a difficult holiday to photograph.  Because the main festivities happen in the pre-dawn hours of northern Europe (primarily Sweden) on December 13th -- and because it's celebrated primarily by twinkly candle-light and such -- there's never enough available light to really capture a good photograph of how it really feels to experience a Santa Lucia morning (and trying to use a flash on the camera just destroys the illusion completely).  Photographs are always overexposed or underexposed or blurred...

That being said, I really like the above photograph that Marci captured -- albeit a little bit blurred -- of Elliot carrying our mugs of hot cocoa and Olivia carrying the plate full of Lussekatter (saffron-flavored breaded pastries), sillhouetted by the kitchen light as they turn the corner to deliver the traditional Santa Lucia treats to me in bed (the old tradition of the "man-of-the-house" being served breakfast in bed is definitely a highlight of this particular holiday!).

Santa Lucia has become a very special tradition in our home.  Nevermind that it's a Swedish celebration, even though Marci and I are both third- and fourth-generation Americans currently living in the Netherlnads!  Both of our families share a Scandinavian heritage (which seemed to be the more dominant ethnic identity in our families), and as such the holiday is a very meaningful tradition that we've developed through the years.   I did not celebrate Santa Lucia growing up, but Marci did -- and I'm very glad that her family nurtured these traditions.

The holiday is primarily about special foods (namely the lussekatter) and special clothing traditions wherein the oldest girl of the house wears a white dress with a red sash around her waist and a crown of greenery and candles (ours are electric) while any other girls in the house wear similar clothing (excluding the crown) and all of the boys in the house wear vests and tall pointed hats to serve as Starboy.  In the early hours of the morning of December 13th, they prepare the lussekatter (which are usually baked the previous day) and serve them along with hot cocoa (I think the Swedes tend more toward coffee, but we've adapted to our household's tastes, since I'm the only one who really like coffee) and then deliver them while singing special Swedish songs.  Then, after we've enjoyed some of the refreshments, we exchange small gifts which are laid out in our Christmas stockings (again, I don't think people in Sweden actually do it this way, but it's how we've adapted the holiday) and then sit around for the rest of the morning munching on more lussekatter and hot cocoa.  It's very beautiful and very fun.

I don't know of many other people (outside of Marci's family) who celebrate Santa Lucia -- but that's kind of part of what makes it so special.  Back when there were just three of us here in Amsterdam (before Olivia or Cor were born), our family got a chance to travel to Stockholm (Sweden) for Santa Lucia -- so we can confirm that it is a real holiday and not just something that we made up to be weird and "Swedish."  So I realize that you may not care so much to read about this holiday -- still, we wish you a very wonderful Santa Lucia day today...

I've found that the Tropenmuseum is a great place to visit together with my kids.  It's right in our neighborhood.  It's got fun, interactive exhibits.  And it's very inexpensive (since we own year-round passes to all the major museums around the Netherlands).  This afternoon, we spent an hour-and-a-half there at the Tropenmuseum after school -- and in that short time, we we succeeded in building a rather elaborate castle out of vulcanized rubber blocks, we watched a shadow-puppet theater presentation and then did our own shows for each other, and we played with the "African hair styles" exhibit resulting in these rather random and absurd images copied here.

So I really like the Tropenmuseum.  At the same time, however, I cannot help but wonder (and worry) about the dangers of idolatry and racism that are present there at the Tropenmuseum.

I've actually already shared some previous issues with idolatry and the Tropenmuseum.  And while I've become more sensitive to the potential pitfalls -- particularly when visiting the Tropenmuseum -- I continue to wrestle with the implications.  Of course, as a follower of Jesus, I'm not comfortable with worshipping exotic, tropical gods.  But I'm also not comfortable with simply boxing myself in and trying to avoid any and every kind of interaction with people (or systems) who believe differently than me.  We had some out-of-town guests staying with us, and when they visited the Tropenmuseum with their small children (upon my recommendation) they ended up doing a quick walk-through and then asking to get their money back because the place "wasn't what they expected" (and to the Tropenmuseum's credit, they didn't create any hassle about this refund).  But more than just misaligned expectations, our friends (who are also Christians) later confided to us that they felt a "genuine presence of evil" as they walked through the Tropenmuseum.  And while I felt bad for pointing our guests toward such an experience -- and I give them every freedom to make their own judgments about what's best for their family -- I also felt challenged (and I secretly wanted to challenge them as well) to consider the true implications of "idolatry" and "evil." 

I mean, really, idolatry is not just limited to little tribal carvings of animist deities -- is it?  These "idols" at the Tropenmuseum are not really any worse (or better) than so many of the other "idols" that we have to deal with every day -- are they?  Couldn't it be that a shopping excursion on the P.C. Hoofdstraat might be just as great (if not greater) flirtation with the gods of our culture as a walk through the Tropenmuseum?  Or couldn't closet sexual fantasies be just as dangerous (if not more dangerous) than academically observing the phallic totem poles in the Tropenmuseum?  Whose to say which is really more "evil?"  Yes, I'm sure the Voodoo exhibit at the Tropenmuseum (which I did not elect to visit with my children, by the way) could be a dangerous temptation to someone who grew up in Haiti and has personally experienced the darkness of this form of idolatry... but does it really represent some inherrent darkness that's universal -- somehow supernaturally affecting people who grow up in the West, with not the least bit of fascination or belief in the Creole theologies of the Caribbean?  I really don't know the answers to these questions, but it seems to me that the Tropenmuseum could, in fact, be a valuable object lesson to help draw attention to -- and equip ourselves to fight against -- the more invisible (and thus, more insidious) idols in our own culture.

I don't know... It's something I wonder about.

The other thing I wonder about is the racist implications of the Tropenmuseum.  The pictures in this post are probably enough to cause others to wonder the same thing?  Is this just technological (digital) blackface?  Are we mocking, or are we relating?  Americans are, of course, much more race-conscious than most Europeans.  It's built into our history, our national guilt, our modern-day class struggles, and all that stuff.  So again, I don't want to be overly sensitive to the  "racial implications" of exhibits at the Tropenmuseum.  But the questions do pester me, and I do wonder what is best -- for me, for my children, and for our culture(s) in general.

The colonial trappings of the Tropenmuseum do not help, in this regard.  Historically speaking, the museum was originally designed to be a showcase of the spoils of Dutch colonialism in the Tropics -- and I actually think the Dutch can be woefully unaware of the cultural implications of their vestigial racism (like Zwarte Pieten in the Sinterklaas season).  Yes, I truly believe that these leftover traces of the colonial era are innocent and well-intended enough for the Dutch people themselves -- but it certainly is not perceived that way by the rest of the world... But at the same time, I also realize how Americans can over-compensate for the issues and effectively try to ignore problems that are obviously still there -- and I don't think that's the way to go either.

So in the case of the silly "African hair styles" exhibit -- I just have to wonder:  Am I being culturally insensitive and effectively mocking other people groups when I allow myself and my children to pose for these ridiculous photographs?  Or is this, perhaps, actually an effective way to actually contextualize culture and create dialogue?  Is it weird to pick out our funky African hair style and try to tint our skin to the right shade of brown?  Or is this actually a good way to show that we're all humans -- that we're really just the same base element, and you can see it more clearly if you just mess around with the hair styles and skin colors a little bit?

Again, I don't know what the right answers are to these questions.  But I do wonder...

In any event, I hope you enjoy the pictures for whatever they're worth.  I hope they're not offensive to anyone.  I do, however, hope that they might be provocative... because I am certainly provoked, and I'm glad for the opportunity to wrestle with such questions.

My head has been full of songs and the ticking of the clock today.

While bicycling to my first appointment this morning, I was inexplicably reminded of some old song lyrics by DC Talk -- an obscure 1990s hip-hop group.  It really doesn't make sense why my mind would have been drawn to such memories of music from my teenage years because I don't currently own any of those old albums, nor would there be any chance that I've overheard strains of the old songs on local radio stations or piped-in music at stores.  But the songs were there nonetheless.  First it was "Love is a Verb" (I'm genuinely shocked by how many of the lyrics to this song I can remember!).  Then it was "Lean on Me."  And then I was at my meeting -- so my internal soundtrack was basically absorbed by conversation.

One of the topics in this first conversation of the day, however, was the realization of the increasing velocity of time over the course of one's life.  Seriously, it's hard to believe that we're already almost at the end of 2008.  I've hardly gotten used to writing this date on letters and forms and whatever -- and now I'm already starting to have to train myself to turn those "'08"s (or sometimes still "'07"s in my mind!) to "'09"s!  Yikes!  So during the conversation, my thoughts were somehow turned toward Jim Croce and his song "Time in a Bottle" (the YouTube video above is the Muppet Show version of the song, which I remember very vividly from my childhood).  Jim Croce was, officially, before my time.  But I remember checking his greatest hits (on CD) out from the Marvin Memorial Library in Shelby this past summer and listening to its folksy melodies throughout long hot drives throughout the Midwest.  And for the rest of the afternoon, my mind was stuck on Jim Croce:  "Time in a Bottle," "Bad, Bad Leroy Brown," and "Don't Mess Around with Jim."

And then, after finishing up a supper with my family, my mind somehow switched to the "Sound of Music" soundtrack.  "Do Re Mi," "Edelweiss," and all that good stuff.  Even further back in time than Jim Croce and DC Talk.  But good stuff, and associated with other various memories from my childhood.

It's odd to try and figure out how all of these memories and melodies become intertwined and associated with each other.  But it's fun to enjoy the soundtrack for whatever it's worth.

I just found one of the coolest websites in the whole wide world:  the World Names Profiler.

It's an interactive map, and it allows you to search for the worldwide occurrence of any surname.  Type in "Asp," for instance, in the upper right corner -- and it will show you where the highest concentrations of Asps are throughout the world (well, the statistics provided are mostly for Europe, North America, and Oceania).  After the search is done, you can zoom in to the national, regional (state), and district (county) level, to see which particular areas have the greatest occurrence of any given name.  Apparently, there's only 3.8 Asps for every million Americans (and the vast majority of these seem to be centered in Wisconsin, Minnesota, and North Dakota).  But in Sweden, it's almost 100 times that!  The zoomed-in map of the Netherlands is totally void of Asps -- so it must not be a statistically significant name (though I can personally verify that there are at least 5 of us living here).  There are a few, however, in the southern (French-speaking) parts of Belgium.  Odd, huh?

I may just enjoy it because I'm a bit of a map geek -- but it might be worth your while to check the site out for yourself and see what comes of your own search...

Another feature on the site allows you to see the top forenames that go with a particular last name (in the case of people with the last name Asp, for instance the top first names are John, Per, Peter, Lars)... It's also super-cool to do a search for the most popular first and last names in any given city (I think it's supposed to be done through the "Area Search" link at the top of the page, but link is broken -- so just do a search for any given name and then click on any of the "Top Countries," "Top Regions," or "Top Cities" to call up the Area Search page).  You can choose from wherever you'd like and find the most "typical" first and last name for that place.  It's amazing to me... I've checked some of the cities within my own frame of reference -- Amsterdam, Torino (Italy), Bowling Green (OH), Shelby (OH), Jamestown (ND) -- and the results are spot-on.  I even tried it on my Dad's hometown (Kerkhoven, Minnesota, i.e. a place with which I'm not so familiar) -- and I amazed him, too, with the site's accuracy.  To anyone who writes fiction (as I like to imagine that I do), this feature of the site could prove to be invaluable for helping to establish setting (one of my greatest difficulties, typically, is picking believable names for my stories' characters).

The third major feature of the site is that you can also search the distribution of various ethnic groups throughout the world on the site.  Again, I can confirm that the site verifies things that I already know (like there are a lot of Swedes in Minnesota, a lot of Dutch people in western Michigan, and a lot of Turks in Amsterdam)... But I find it inexplicably fascinating to see how other people groups have spread throughout the world over the course of history.

The one caveat of the World Names Profiler is that the site is a bit slow (so if you click on a country from the big global map, for instance, you have to wait a second before the zoom-in happens), and -- as previously mentioned -- there are a few broken links on the site. But seriously, this is an amazing website.  Let me know if you find out anything interesting about yourself from the site...

Today is a special holiday here in the Netherlands:  Sinterklaas. This time of the year always brings me a certain amount of curiosity, amusement, and wonder.

I still remember our first couple of winters here in the Netherlands.  We were so clueless about so many things -- including Sinterklaas.  We kind of blended Sinterklaas with the rest of the holiday season -- naively assuming that the gift-giving, red-velvet-wearing, white-bearded Sinterklaas was close enough to the American tradition of Santa Claus that it allowed for these seasons to flow together in one big holiday celebration from Thanksgiving to New Years.  There were enough similarities that we unconsciously slipped into our own form of inter-cultural syncretism.  We put the books about Sinterklaas on the same shelf as the books about Santa Lucia and Christmas.  We bought bags of pepernoten to complement our Lussekatter and Christmas cookies.  We would put up our Christmas tree, hang our stockings, and put out our shoes.  And we even went so far as to buy Elliot (our only child at the time) his own set of klompen (wooden clogs) -- so that they might be filled with pepernoten and a chocolate letter "E" on the morning of Sinterklaas.  And we were so proud of ourselves for "assimilating" so well. :-)

Oh, how clueless we were...

What we didn't realize was that the Dutch concept of Sinterklaas is completely separated from the celebration of Christmas.  Yes, the two holidays are celebrated in the same month -- but that's about where the similarities stop.  To a Dutch person, Sinterklaas and Christmas are about as interconnected as Sinterklaas and Queen's Day.  So to put a Christmas tree out before the 5th of December is sacrilige -- kind of like (except much, much worse than) celebrating a big American Thanksgiving dinner with a Christmas tree in the corner of the room (or maybe more like celebrating the same Thanksgiving dinner with an Easter egg hunt following the meal).  We started to get the idea in our second and third winters here in the Netherlands -- where Dutch people would tell us, with very disappointed looks on their faces, "But you can't put out a Christmas tree until after Sinterklaas."  So even though it would seem that there are a lot of similarities between Sinterklaas and Santa Claus (both based on the historical figure of Saint Nicolas, both with long white beards, both with colorfully-dressed helpers, both giving gifts to children, etc.) -- we've since learned definitively that they are not related.  They're not even distant cousins.  Sinterklaas is for presents and Sinterklaas songs and pepernoten and chocolate letters; Christmas is for feasting with family and friends, sitting around the fireplace listening to Christmas songs, and religious remembrance.  In more recent years, there's also been an increasing embrace of Kerstman (Christmas Man), which is basically drawing from the Santa Claus hoopla around the world -- though again, this is not in any way because he's related to Sinterklaas.  The distinction between the holidays needs to be taken quite seriously.

Our whole thing with getting the klompen for Elliot, on the other hand, is quite laughable.  Again, because of our inter-cultural holiday syncretism, we just assumed that the Dutch tradition of putting out shoes by the fireplace (or the radiator) was merely a parallel to the American tradition of hanging stockings on the mantle.  And since the American Christmas stockings don't look anything like the hosiery that we wear day-to-day (much bigger, much more colorful, much more old-fashioned) -- we figured it was kind of the same way with Dutch schoenzetten (putting out one's shoe).  And to us, like most foreigners whose automatic word association with "the Netherlands" brings to mind "tulips, windmills, cheese, and wooden shoes," it seemed like the old-fashioned, over-sized wooden shoes were the perfect parallel!  I still remember the slow dawning of embarrassment when we proudly demonstrated Elliot's klompen to our Dutch friends, only to be met with puzzled looks of pity and confusion.  Looking back, it was a very funny -- and very honest -- mistake.

Through the years, I've been amused, defensive, surprised, embarrassed, interested, and ashamed at these memories of our cultural naïveté which so typified our transition from life in the USA to life in Amsterdam.  We know so much better now... But you know what's funny:  We still put up our Christmas tree as soon as we can after Thanksgiving (though preferably after any kind of occasions in which Dutch people that visit our home prior to Sinterklaas).  We still blend Christmas music and Sinterklaas music.  And we still put out the klompen (we've bought other sets for the other children, even after knowing better) each year... Because it's a fun way to remember where we've come from, where we are, and where we're going.  We are strangers now -- both here in the Netherlands and in our "native" Ohio -- but we can still have fun with it.

And that, to me, is what this holiday season Sinterklaas is all about.

It's been a whole month of "The Joy of _________" posting (and titling)... and I have to say that there is, well, some element of joy that comes in actually being able to dedicate this space to other areas of interest!  Themed posting and titling can be fun and stimulating for a time... but after awhile it just starts to feel like a gimmick.

So yes -- I'm glad that I was able to meet the NaBloPoMo challenge to complete an entire month of daily posting (check it out if you don't believe me:  31 posts for the month of November!).  I'm glad that I was able to discover some of the special "Joys of November" in Amsterdam -- and I really do believe that my perspective on this time of the year has been changed (what's especially cool is that I had at least 4 or 5 things in my head that I never got around to pursuing or posting about!).  And I'm glad that they joy of the whole experience was shared with so many others who read along, commented, or tried to keep up the pace with their own blogging.

But I'm also glad that it's over.

I'm guessing that I'll be reverting to my more typical pace of blogging (the average monthly output from the past year has been 17 posts per month -- or slightly more than one post every other day) from here on out.  And -- as much as blogging purists would tell you that you need to maximize your web profile by becoming a perceived expert in a particular niche -- I'm further guessing that I'm going to just go ahead and continue posting about a random collection of anything and everything that comes to my mind:  thoughts and images about my family, my city, my hobbies, my faith, my never-ending journey of self-discovery... all that good stuff.

What were your observations over the last month?  Are you glad -- or sad -- that it's over?  In any event -- ready or not -- here comes life after the "Joys of November"...