Going back in time - or what to do in a powercut!

Our canal has looked pretty much the same since our houses were built in the 1850's. Because they were built during the Crimea War the row of terraced cottages has been known as "'t Krim" ever since.
But in order to maintain this image of old monnickendam, repairs do have to be carried out, and this week work began on rebuilding the banks around the bridge at the south end of the canal.

Its a big job, and I was very impressed by the engineering feats carried out as the area weas dammed, and the water was pumped away to reveal the footings.
Until yesterday morning, around 9.30, when we were plunged back in time as the workmen severed the mains electricity cable.
Once your electricity is taken away from you, you realise how much you need it! I had my washing machine on.... full of wet clothes, I could not make a coffee with my coffee machine. The house was getting colder, until I realised that I could light the gas fire manually, but I had no hot water, so I could not clean or do the ironing.
All the computers had crashed, including the ones John was repairing, and I could not work to answer emails or to design my new workshop. Even baking was out of the question without my electric oven.
I went out in the afternoon to buy a kettle for the gas hob, and pick up Jolanda from school so she could ride; and when we came home everything was working again.
What a relief!
Next time it happens I will be better prepared, but it was a weird experience being without such a basic necessity as electricity!

recycling - how hard can it get!

The Christmas decorations were packed away yesterday, and today it was time to get rid of all the junk that has accumulated over the holiday period. I loaded a box of paper into my car, and a big bag of glass bottles, as well as two sacks of plastic waste.

The paper and cardboard comes from packing from presents and household goods, but because John runs his business from home, he also generates a lot of paper and carton waste and I make regular trips to get rid of that.

The bottles usually go to the bottle bank along the street, but the snow and bad weather meant that the volume was greater than I could carry, so thats why that was going in the car.

The plastic - thats another story. At the beginning of 2010 the Netherlands invented Plastic Heroes, to encourage recycling of plastic. there were TV adverts, and leaflets from the council. I was pleased to recycle, and began to collect plastic enthusiastically. The council provided us all with special plastic sacks for the waste, and a schedule of pickups - one a month on a tuesday! We soon found that once a month was not often enough, as a household we generate at least three sacks a month. but the first month I happily put my sacks out on the appointed tuesday, along with the other householders in the street. The sacks stayed outside our houses for a very long time, being blown around by the wind and attacked by the ever present crow colony, who scavenge anything that does not move. eventually a little truck came round and picked up the bags, and we began our recycling cycle once again.

Each month was the same, householders hopefully put out their bags of plastic on the designated tuesday, and around 2 days later they are picked up. Its got to the point where, if you see a plastic sack on the street, you put yours out in the hope that something will happen, a sort of collective optimism which is always dashed. Thats why the bags were in my car today.

I drove off to the council tip, and joined the many other women doing the same thing. We were helped by the council workers who helpfully pointed out where different items had to go, (they very rarely help physically, if they do, they unerringly pick up the lightest item in the car, and leave you to struggle with the old matrass or kitchen sink that needs to be ditched)

So I trotted around, climbing the ladder to put the plastic in a huge dumpster, and hoisting the paper above my head into the crusher. The bottles I carried over to the bottle bank to find that it was full. there being no other place to dump them, I loaded them back into my car, and drove to the supermarket to use the bottle bank there. Then I drove to the council offices to pick up more bags for the plastic recycling.

Getting home, I found that John had received another delivery of computer components, and the empty box and all the packing material were neatly stacked in the corner of the living room.

tomorrow I'll tell you how I get to return all the faulty modems to the supplier after John has installed new ones! or maybe not :)

Teaching English!

My new income source is teaching English to Dutch teenagers. The poor dears now have to reach a certain level of proficiency by the time of the final exams. It puts pressure on kids and parents alike, but I not only offer individual teaching sessions for kids with problems reaching the required grade, I also occasionally work as the "native English speaker"at a local school who started to run a "fast track" english course last year. I now teach the second years, and the new first years, once every six weeks of so!
Now I have no teaching qualifications, so on the surface of it being British is the only reason I get clients, but I do have successes, and I do get a kick out of working with the kids!
This week the year 2's made a start with studying english literature. The head of year chose this book - Revolting Rhymes by Roald Dahl - which would not have been my choice but whatever....
On Tuesday we studied "Little Red Riding Hood and the Wolf" followed by "Three Little Pigs".
My task was to read out the poems - with feeling. I always find Roald Dahl to be a bit gruesome, but I did my best -
"what big eyes you have, Grandma" etc.
The kids were suitably impressed. (Bear in mind they are thirteen and fourteen year olds)
Roald Dahl's tale had that twist you always get, then we went on to the second poem.
I "huffed" and "puffed" and came to the end of the poem.
There was silence, then a little voice from the back piped up in dutch (with a volendamse accent) "but did the last pig die?"
There was a chorus of disgust, and everyone insisted that this story was totally fake, and not the real story after all!
Maybe kids these days are too involved in reality TV to accept imaginative literature!