Dutch in Translation

If you are one of those who complains about Dutch music and movies, this post is probably not for you. Why? Because I am about to tell you why watching movies is one of the best ways to learn Dutch and get a glimpse of the beauty found in Dutch culture. 

   B ack in 2015 and during the two weeks I traveled with my darling to better get to know each other, I cried almost every day: out of  laughter ! Today, 1178 days after, it is still one of the reasons why I fall for him every time he says something funny. Who could resist him? Definitely, not me.      Now, let's approach this issue seriously: Which role does laughter play in our lives? Should it be important? Does it lead us to more fulfilling lives, happier and healthier? We will all probably agree with most of these benefits, but if we classify them in two, I would say one must laugh with others and at oneself. A JA JA! Here is where I trip over and over. It is difficult to laugh at myself: Sometimes I can't laugh about something and I get all worked out. Good news is I am learning to just let things go. My sweetheart is the best example and a patient teacher!      Having said this, I leave you with one of my favorite poems by Neruda. It is called Your Laughter

     It was a sunny, September morning.  I was sitting at her kitchen table, having coffee and observing every little detail around us: golden rimmed yellow cups, a crystal butterfly on the fridge handle, a luscious hanging plant above our sitting places, one of her cats by the window. Miss Butterfly had breakfast ready: butter in a tiny butter cup, wild berries jam, Amsterdam cheese, and an assorted selection of bread. As I took in the sweetness of the room, she got down to business and began preparing my cappuccino using both of her coffee machines: She favors one for making the coffee and the other for foaming the milk. The later has been with her since her days in Poland. I wonder if keeping it is not about the foam but about holding on to her once upon a time ...       Our conversation is far from superficial. It's as we had known each other from before. Miss Butterfly , my Agnes, is a photographer, a mom and wife, a woman. A Polish woman. I ask why there weren't famil