When I opened the front door this morning, ready to take the girls to school, I was stunned by the sight. There was a huge column of black smoke rising from the south. The wind was blowing the smoke past us to the northeast. It was a sight to arrest the heart for a moment, The girls rushed out because I had cried out. They stared in wonder. The blaze was so intense, we could see the smoke glowing red underneath.
We had to move in the direction of the fire to go to school. Thanks to social media, I already knew what was burning. It was a building we passed every day, a colourful building in an up-and-coming little borough called Keilewerf. It was a builder’s yard, piled high with lumber. The place had a hippyish vibe, something happy and communal about it. Baby Jos would not accept that that was the building that was burning. It made her too sad. The police had cordoned off our usual route to school, so we only saw the fire from a distance. That could be any other building, Baby Jos insisted.
Think of the terror that sight would have inspired in Scaliger’s day! Fire killed. It wiped out cities. In 1452, just a century and a half before Scaliger’s day, two-thirds of Amsterdam had burned down. It was this fire we have to thank for the beautiful city we still see today. They mandated building in stone afterward, but stone was too heavy for the marshy Dutch earth. They built with brick.
Wednesday, June 28, 2023
Monday, June 19, 2023
It’s June. Gentle winds are shaking the leaves of the poplars, making a sound like rain. Red poppies are in bloom. There are scents of freshly cut grass in the air; there are scents of lilac. The summer hush has begun to settle over the city. This is one of my favourite times of year.
If the city has quieted, it’s not a quiet season for the girls. Their school takes them to amusement parks. Their hockey teams have picnics. They have recitals downtown. And Baby Jos celebrates her birthday. A child’s birthday is never just one day. It’s a celebration in waves. The joyous wave this week was the party for her friends. She invited her closest school friends to an adventure park, where they climbed walls and jumped on trampolines and scared themselves on obstacle courses high above the ground. They indulged in cake and cupcakes. Parents sat together and shared their exhaustion, shared photos, complained about the school and still managed to laugh.
We’re in constant motion, slaves to our springtime activities. The new summer sun has shone on all of it, imbuing everything with a surfeit of light, like living photos that were overexposed, abundant with sunshine and smiles, overwhelming the sombre Dutch colour palette with yellows, whites and greens; like memories washed out by sun and time; like the photos from our trip to Rome, in which everyone is squinting and the colours are fading into gold.
There was some concern that none of this would happen for Baby Jos because she suffered an injury to her foot a few weeks ago, having caught it in a bicycle wheel while riding behind her papa to hockey. Nothing was broken, but the doctors put her in a cast to keep the foot still while it healed. She was at first proud to be walking on crutches into school, and then she was bored and frustrated when she couldn’t play. Fortunately, it only took two weeks to get back on her feet, just in time for the parties.
The latest celebration was the recital. It fell on Father’s Day. I couldn’t have asked for a better way to commemorate the day. The girls were excited to wear make-up, proud to be on stage, transfixed by the crowds of parents cheering them on.
Baby Jos tells me it’s my best Father’s Day ever, and she’s immediately right. It was true before she said it. It is true because she says it. I’m perfectly happy.