Non-verbal

Sandy

Who are the absolute champions of non-verbal communication? With a great genius for love and friendship? Dogs.

I'm thinking of 2 individuals in particular. First one a retriever who happens to live with his owner in my street, at the block I need to pass to reach mine. I met the two of them when were almost home as I happened to pass by, on my way home. The dog looked at me, inquiringly, invitingly and I couldn't resist. I went down on my knees, literally, and started patting and hugging this total stranger. Lucky for us, his owner, a friendly talkative woman, didn't mind. She didn't begrudge her dog his private life and own circle of friends. [ I prefer that kind of dog owners. ]

Now this was not so special.... what makes it special is that two weeks later, the three of us came home around the same time again. But this time the distance between us was larger. I still had a block to pass and a street to cross while the dog with its owner were at their front yard already. The dog looked over its shoulder before turning to its house... saw me... and sat down decidedly. He kept on looking at me, wagging his tail happily, determined not to be led to his house by the woman at the other side of his leash. I walked faster visibly, and the owner smiled, letting me know with a hand signal  -non verbally!-   that she'd wait. But it took way too long according to the retriever. He got up... started to cross the street pulling my neighbor after him. So strong was his impatience for getting a hug from me. Wow, to be appreciated like that!

The other dog... I ran into him or her yesterday, on a little walk through my favorite Dutch city: Haarlem. Walking from the station to the shopping street “Cronjé” you walk past a park. In it there were... yes a dog, not of any known pedigree, and close to him was his owner. The woman had to be, she was the only one in his vicinity and carried a plastic 'sling / stick' for picking up and throwing tennis balls without getting your hands dirty. The woman was holding a mobile phone to her ear while the dog carried the tennis ball in his mouth, waiting for the woman to finish her call. I admired his patience – he looked amused, not bored at all- and I winked at him. Immediately he turned to me, making a short movement with his head “Hey, wanna throw the ball for me?” I imitated his gesture “Sure. I just love throwing balls.”

The tail started wagging and two brown eyes peered helplessly over the ball, that was a bit too big for the mouth... the dog was looking for a way to reach me on the side walk. I halted and looked too.... at the tangled bush that separated us. The dog had already reached it and was now looking for a way through it. But there was no opening or thin patch to let him pass without getting stuck. And if I would work my way through to him... his owner would wonder what kind of person I was and no doubt call the dog to her and leave. The limits of being a decent human being...

So we stood there for a while with the shrub between us, looking at each other, negotiating, wishing, and finally we decided it wasn't meant to be. The dog walked back to his owner, still on the phone, and I slowly walked off. Whenever I looked over my shoulder, the dog still looked at me. Just before a row of large trees would cut him from my view I raised my hand... the dog gave me that same head gesture again, I'm sure it was his way of greeting.

I like thinking back of our encounter. I wonder if he does too.

Photogenic

Jasper - from Beat to Beet.

Another true story 


I love Jasper, my sons white toy duck. He's an egotistical and  silly vain little cheapskate. But disarmingly open.
 I shouldn't be saying all this about him because... I gave Jasper his voice. And his character.  Though I must say my son can take over very well.As you can see in the video in this post.

Jasper's my representative whenever I feel like acting silly or vent my frustrations. So for years I stuffed him in my backpack whenever my son and I went out. Out to a zoo or a simple trip to the supermarket. A boring moment? Out came Jasper and my son and I had lots of fun with him. I remember one day especially well.

    My son and I were sitting in a bus in Haarlem. The bridge nick named "The Paint Roller", spanning the Spaarne, had lifted. In the summer a lot of boats have to pass. Mostly yachts and barges. The line of cars was getting longer and longer. The sun didn't make the waiting any easier...
    In the right lane, just beside 'our' window there was a small car with loud music. It was a miracle the car didn't bounce on the beat of the bass... its driver certainly did. It was at the time that the fashionable "I-don't-know-how-to-dress-code" prescribed that caps should be worn backwards. 
    Jasper was standing on the thin edge at the window next to my seat in the bus. He was feeling hot and bored when he heard that beat... saw that car... and the bouncing driver with his cap turned backwards...  and the white duck felt the devilish urge to poke fun swell up in him. He started an imitation of the young driver with the twisted cap. If Jasper had a cap with him, he would have added it to underline his act. 
    But he didn't have to ... his robotic head jerks and congruent steps got noticed by the driver in the car behind the four wheeled sound box. Same age as the person Jasper was imitating but no loud music, no I-don't-know-how-to-dress-code.
    Jasper got ecstatic. He had a real audience. And what kind of audience. This young man was shaking with laughter. He nudged his companion, seated next to him. He roared too, instantly. Now Jasper's audience had doubled. So the plush duck increased his antics in size and in number. This was true fame, Jasper thought.
    Look, the laughing driver even pulled out his mobile. Would he take a picture?   No, he dialled a number and brought the phone to his ear... The next moment the guy in the car in front, the music box on wheels, answered his phone and looked at the bus, at Jasper. Not by accident but directed by his friend in the car behind him.
    Jasper finished his last move lamely, then froze. Lucky for him he was just a furry toy. He didn't get a head as red as a beet... while three guys were laughing even more. 

Paper Owls and Pool Tables

The dates, events and expressed 

thoughts in this story are true.

How you interpret the events 

is your personal choice.               

It was several months after the funeral of my grandfather, my mother’s father. My son was quietly lying in the playpen, which was standing close to my book case just below the tiny shelves I had put up to show off my collection of paper birds. I think all birds are lovely, in this area I am a bit more broad minded than my grandfather who was only fascinated by owls.
I was cleaning dishes in my "open plan kitchen" from where I could easily keep an eye on my child.  Nothing special was going on, just a nice domestic afternoon…. Until I spontaneously let go of whichever item I was washing. I stepped over to the playpen and picked up my dozing toddler, sensing something indefinite, yet clearly negative. I held my boy close to me, turning away from the playpen, surprised about my own action. “Plop” I heard behind my back. The head of my paper owl had popped off and fallen into the playpen, hitting the baby blanket with its sharp beak, right where my child had lain. I stared at the owl’s head from over my shoulder. “This is my grandfather” it flashed through my being, “trying to play a sick joke.”

The incident 'though small and without consequences stuck to me, so that evening at my mother’s house I told her about this strange ‘coincidence’ and the conclusion that had forced itself upon me.

We laughed at it. This kind of superstition is like using herbs. In small amounts they give spice to life, but too much is just bad taste.

Just moments later the phone rang. It was my uncle, my mother’s brother. 
“Ynez, I guess I’m lucky to be alive. You never guess what happened to me today.”

Being the only son, my uncle inherited my grandfather’s pool table. Because of it’s impossible size the table was disassembled and the heavy tabletop was stored on the landing of the second floor, standing upright opposite the staircase.

“I was going downstairs and halfway down I heard a strange rumble. I looked back and saw the pool table coming after me. I didn’t make it downstairs, the table knocked me over and landed on top of me. My girlfriend had to help me crawl from under it. Oh m. G.. Ynez, It was as if my father overturned the pool table to hurt me.”