Her husband Klaas and Ton were best friends at university. They were roommates for several years and stayed in touch afterwards. When someone you know well for such a long time (over 20 years for Ton, 12 years since I came into the picture) you want to reach out at such a difficult time. I offered what I’m good at: creating videos. And gladly Klaas called me, asking me to help putting photos to the music Marijke liked, to show during the funeral.

A tough job. A job done with love. A job I’m proud of.

Marijke was 11 years older than me. We were never really close, but I always respected her so much. From a distance I admired her optimism, especially when diagnosed with cancer. So this was my way to show her and Klaas, that they mean a lot to me.

I synchronised five pieces of music with pictures of Marijke. Two of the songs were played live during the funeral, so I had to gamble that the live performances I found online were at the same speed as they would be played during the ceremony. Klaas selected the photos for each of the five songs. His ideas were leading, I just made it technically possible.

We even managed to receive footage from a local TV station, that interviewed Marijke last June, when Klaas was cycling for the Dutch Cancer Foundation. (interview starts at 1:15) I texted and phoned with complete strangers, something beyond my comfort zone.

Balancing between feeling very sad while watching all the beautiful pictures of her, so energetic and full of life, and keeping a professional attitude towards the end result, all under significant time pressure. Difficult during the process, but it feels so good to have done it afterwards.

Two times we drove to the crematory to test-drive: first to check their installation and the second time to check the clips and the music, one day before the funeral. Perfectionists at work.

I will never forget the tears in Klaas’ eyes when I started playing the first song, with the beautiful pictures of Marijke projected on the screen.

The day of the funeral was intense. I witnessed how Marijke was put in her coffin, carried over the threshold of her house for the last time, put in the car, and was driven to the crematory.

I was very nervous: this was not a dress-rehearsal.

It all went so beautifully. All speakers had such a wonderful story to tell, including Klaas himself. The music was perfect. So much love, right to the very end when Klaas, the family, us and other close friends stood in a circle around Marijke’s coffin to say our final goodbye to her physical presence

The day ended with a dinner with the family and close friends. It felt very special to be part of that circle. The warmth of everyone made me realize how empathic we all are in times of need, even those who normally struggle with emotions.

Afterwards Klaas received many compliments how beautiful the ceremony was. It makes him feel he did a good job in commemorating Marijke as she truly was.

The five songs still play in my head and every time it brings a smile to my face. Although we lost Marijke, we can think of her all the time and see her smile. Tears, for sure, but her death also amplified our love. It made me and Ton realize to spend even more time with people that matter to us than we already do.

Thanks Marijke, for almost 45 years on this planet.

Thanks Klaas, for calling me.

I held the black wooden instrument in my hands, took a deep breath, blew on the reed and to everyone’s surprise I produced a sound. Not half bad for a first time. Hardly anyone manages that! It looked like a perfect match.

So I took lessons and joined the local youth orchestra. Only two other girls played oboe in my village back then, I was the youngest. We all played in the same wind orchestra.

I managed to learn the basics rather quickly. First in Emmen, since there was no teacher at the local music school. Later the three of us took lessons with a wonderful lady that came to our village and who often arranged for group lessons.

I loved playing together, but I never cared much for practicing. When the two older girls left after graduating high school, I was the only one left in the village to play oboe. It diminished my love for playing and practicing even further, but my teacher accepted it and made lessons a fun half hour by playing challenging duets together.

When I was about sixteen I was selected to become the first oboist in a regional orchestra, the Drents Jeugdorkest. Three years I played there. I even managed to keep playing there the first year I was at university. Once a month on Saturday I would travel to remote places in the province Drenthe to rehearse and give concerts with this wonderful group of people. In the end it was the only practice I got every month and I couldn’t keep up with the level of the group. I said goodbye to the orchestra after a summer tour in Rostock.

Only two times after that, during summer projects abroad when I filled a gap in my parent’s orchestra as a second oboist, I rehearsed and played. For the last, six?, years my oboe was just lying around the house, untouched.

Two weeks ago I started practicing again for a reunion concert by that youth orchestra I have such warm memories of. While practicing I noticed that the joy I once had in playing oboe, died since the last time I picked up the instrument. Last week I decided that this reunion concert would be the last one with my oboe. I’m done with it and will sell the oboe my parents gave to me. I’ll pass it on to someone who loves and needs it.

With a very loud concert I payed a worthy tribute to myself and my oboe. A pair you will never see again on stage. My sore lips are proof of my effort. After 22 years I’m done with it and I’m looking forward to challenge myself and start learning something else for the next 20 odd years.

I didn’t notice any change or effect of the treatment in the beginning, but now I’m under the impression things are changing. For one, I woke up around 7am without the help of an alarm several times last week. I’m on an emotional rolercoaster as well, which is supposed to be a good sign of the treatment working.

Oh well, I can only hope that after a while I do feel better than before

The other day I was reflecting on why I’m not that good at drawing and came to the conclusion that at some point in time I stopped drawing, and thus stopped practicing. At my school it wasn’t taught beyond the age of 16. Drawing classes only continued for the exceptional talented kids on our school, who wanted to get into artschools. Since I wasn’t one of them, I stopped drawing.

Only now I realize that being able to translate ideas into visual stuff is important to me. I’m good with words and language, but sometimes a drawing is the only thing to explain what is going on inside my head. Question is, can I convince myself that sucking at drawing (and others being so much better at it) shouldn’t discourage me of doing it?

(practice, practice, practice(although I’m not headed for pro-status on this))

(about the number in the title)

The course was developed by Ernst Bohlmeijer (psychologist, Twente University) and Monique Hulsbergen (independent psychotherapist), based on Mindfulness and ACT (Acceptance and Commitment Therapy). Mindfulness is described by the authors as: with open mind, without judgement noticing what happens from moment to moment. ACT is exactly what the abbreviation stands for: accepting whatever there is (either positive or negative) and committing to act.

During the 9 weeks the course takes you through 3 phases: the first phase is mainly about reflecting on your current emotions and coping strategies for (mental) pain; phase two is more about coming at peace with all there is, both the positive AND the negative side of life; phase three is about putting things into practice.

The book describes for every week a bit of theory and assignments to do which helps you reflect on how you’re behaving, what you envision for your life, sometimes keep a diary of specific types of behaviour (such as “write down every day when you compared yourself to others”). Every week there is a meditation assignment to do every day (or several times during the day if it’s a shorter one).

I’ve finished the first two phases. It’s been a roller coaster through emotions so far. I’ve been confronted with parts of myself that I thought I had dealt with during the years of intensive psychotherapy. It turns out that some issues will revisit me nonetheless. Bummer….

Still, I’m not entirely convinced of this course. It was announced as the rationalist approach to mindfulness, (without all the Buddhism-gobbledygook), but some of the stories the authors use in their book are still a lot of gibberish.

I can’t really tell yet whether this course will have a longer lasting effect effect on me than the nine weeks it involves me. Only time will tell. I will hang in there ’till the end. The best phase has yet to come: putting things into practice. Looking forward to that!

(about the number in the title)

No doubt that I’m an introvert. I am an analytic observer and I totally need a quiet hour after a party.

The article made clear to me that living in an ‘extravert prefered’-world is why I always felt I fell short in some aspects. As a teenager I didn’t hang out with others a lot. I had a hard time grasping peer-behaviour, such as chatting about the hottest bloke from a certain boy-band, or worse, filling your diary with images of your favorite singer/actor/horse. I think I can count the number of times I went to the local disco on one hand (there were no other places where you could hang out as a teenager where I grew up). I often was criticized for this, not taking part in social acitivities, both by peers as by my parents.

Now it’s time to wrap my introvertness in the comfy blanket and celebrate all the good things this aspect of my personality brings me. For instance the ability to self-reflect .

(about the number)

This week I’ve come to realize that a lot of the time I don’t take my work seriously. In the sense that I’m always playing down what I do. I have a hard time being convinced that what I do has value.

This realization hit me in the face and could easily knock me out if it catches me off guard. It’s one of those things that keeps following me where-ever life takes me and I’m rather fed up with it. In the light of the mindfulness course that I’m half-way through I should embrace this emotion and stop fighting against it.

So right now, I’m wrapping my self-criticism and self-disappointment in our woollen PEI blanket and won’t stop hugging the blanket with its contents untill I’ve come at peace with my emotions.

Sleep well.

(about the number)

I was only 8 so what I remember of what happened next must be seen in that light.

It must have been either a weekend or during the evening, because when we called for an emergency appointment at the dentist we were directed to a different dentist than we normally had. I was brought in and the only visual memory I have is of people wearing mouthpieces bending over me in low-light condition. It felt scary. In terms of repair they didn’t do too much to my teeth. Relatively speaking the damage was moderate. If only we would have found the broken halves, they could have glued it back on and that would have been it. Allas.

After the emergency repair session with the unfamiliar dentist we were told to make an appointment with our family dentist for proper repair. Which is what happened. It was a long session and my first acquaintance with needles stuck in my mouth, hurting in a very nasty way. My front teeth were rebuilt with white filling, which should last for several years, hopefully untill my 18th so that they could be replaced with crowns.

Now what you have to know is that I didn’t like, trust nor felt comfortable around our family dentist. I would describe him as the typical cynic baby-boomer, in his (late?)forties (very old from my point of view).

Four years after the first heavy operation on my teeth, the fillings needed replacements. At twelve I had to undergo the whole process again. The needles, 10 minutes in the waiting room waiting for the anaesthetics to work (doesn’t happen anymore these days), people putting stuff in my mouth without telling me what they were doing, spotlight, masks, drilling, sucking. I now know that it takes an hour, which must have felt neverending back then.

I clearly remember that at one point my dentist was doing something that hurt me. I must have moaned, because I got a response from him: “Oh, does that hurt little girl?” (in Dutch: “Ach, deed dat zeer meisje?”). Written down it looks like a normal response, but it was the way he said it that made me want to flee on the spot. I interpreted it as a cynical, not meant, condescending remark.

That’s the point from where my relationship with dentists in general went downhill. More and more I dreaded appointments for regular check-up. The only reason I went was because my mother made me. My last appointment was the year I graduated from high-school, aged 18. Then I went off to university and never looked for a new dentist in my new home town, even though my front teeth discoloured more and more.

I remember once in the early phase of my psychological treatment (I was 21), one of the psychologists asked me whether having discoulered teeth affected my self-esteem, or whether kids pestered me with it. I had never thought about it in that way nor experienced specific bullying, so the only answer I could give was that having these not so pretty teeth was the one thing that had never bothered me much. Being in familiar circles, first at primary school, then secondary and later at university it was just a matter of explaining once to people who asked what happened and then people knew. Many of my friends told me that once they got to know me they didn’t even notice my teeth any longer.

That changed a few years ago. After I left university I started noticing that I met more and more people only once. I saw people looking, judging and not daring to ask what was wrong with my teeth. I had to admit it was starting to bug me. For the first time in my life I started to feel ashamed about my teeth. And then I was confronted with my fear for dentists.

Just to give you an idea how my fear had grown over the years. As you may know I’m a coach at my fencing club. We often have new kids joining the club. During a tournament I got into a conversation with some of the parents. One man was relatively new in the group, his son joined a few months earlier. At one point during that conversation we came to talk about our professions and I found out that this man was a dentist. I got sweaty palms at the spot and wanted to distance myself from him.

That was the moment that I knew I had to deal with this issue. I started talking about my fear. What helped was that a friend confessed that he was in a similar position and at that time faced his fears and actually visited the dentist again. After some time (maybe a year) I started to ask around whether someone knew a good dentist in my hometown who could give special attention to my fears. After some pointers to dentists that I didn’t follow up, I got an address from a colleague that sounded right. I called for a first appointment, explained my situation and ended up with a lovely young, female dentist, specialised in treating children and ‘fear-patients’.

That was one year ago. There was a lot to do, besides my front teeth. The whole process of filling wholes, cleaning up, getting rid of wisdom teeth (ouch!) was leading up to one promise of my new dentist: white front teeth. And today was that day. As of today I have white teeth again:

Even though visits to my dentist were so regular this year, I still get nervous the day of the appointment. But thanks to her being very communicative and reassuring, anaesthetic (it’s not the needles that scare me) and progressed techniques, I at last have overcome my fears and can now start doing the yearly check-up.

issues of copyright in the information age, mashing up the media landscape of the 20th century and shattering the wall between users and producers.

Here’s the intro, as an appetizer.

Watch all the other chapters online. With a special request to all viewing: REMIX PLEASE!

(HT to Marco Derksen)

More about my plans to come!