OK I know I've written this before,

but today was the last beach day of this year.

The water was a bit fresh,

but the weather was heavenly 

and there were only a handful of people on the beach...

Bliss.

 

Fisher boat

 

The water was incredibly clear. I know it's difficult with the sun and the waves, but can you see the little fish swimming around my feet?

 

Clara 

Today the Lion King had a visit at the cardiologist.

They go way back, 

the doctor basically saved his life almost 15 years ago,

and although they don't know much about each other's personal life,

I can easily imagine them being friends in 'real' life.

 

So they spoke about his heart,

of course,

but also about his operation last year and the problems he's having now.

Right before  we left,

he asked: 

"Doctor, you always ask your patients how they're doing, but allow me to ask you, 

how are YOU doing?"

The initial answer of the doctor was the usual one,

the one we all have ready on the tip of our tongue,

the standard answer for standard questions.

"Tutto bene, I'm doing fine..."

Then he interrupted himself,

looked my husband in the eye,

and said

"To be honest, I've just had a birthmark removed. They did a biopsy and it was a melanoma."

And it was weird but also beautiful 

and we really f*cking need to take the time to listen to each other more.

So that our first thought isn't always that noone cares how we are anyway.

 

Clara 

 This morning in the family chat, when his daughter asked what we'd all be doing today,

he answered 'depression and moodiness just like every day'

and both his daughters  laughed.

 

How should parents tell their adult children that they're not ok?

Or shouldn't they tell them anything?

 

When is it time for children to not only take, 

but also to give?

Or shouldn't they ever? 

 Anyway.

What do you do with someone who can't walk?

You take him for an aperitivo. 

 

If it doesn't work as an antidepressant for him,

it does for me.

Clara 

 The Lion King has got new painkillers.
They contain oxycodone, an opioid.

When he takes it, 
he repeats that he loves me soooo much
and that the has the prettiest wife in the whole world 
at least 20 times a day.

So now I can't decide
whether he has to take it forever
or whether I will.
Or the both of us.

Forever happy
and high as a kite.

clara

 Today was such a beautiful day. 

It was a day like in a movie,

a day like on social media,

but real, so real.

 

So the Lion King's father was the oldest of 9 children. After WWII, the situation in Naples was dire, and 3 of them emigrated to the US, 3 emigrated to France to work in the coal mines and 3 remained.

Now when the Lion King was little, the siblings from France came on holidays to Naples during summer and he played with his French cousins.

But as it goes, after a couple of years, they stopped coming and they lost contact.

3 years ago, a couple of them came to Naples and we met, me being the only one who spoke both French and Italian.

This week they stay at Ercolano, close to the Vesuvio, for a week and they invited us for lunch.

Of course we brought a good deal of food as well and we all sat at a long table with lots of simple but good food, they'd all learned a little Italian, there were 11 of them and 9 of us and quickly communication problems faded and it was just perfect...

The location was beautiful and there even was a pool and at one point we were all just in the pool together ...

 

A beautiful, beautiful day...

 

Clara 

 Since I was very young (younger than 10), my mother used to tell me and my sister that we were fat.

My sister being my sister, she reacted and during puberty flirted with anorexia for a little while. She still is very thin.

Me being me... Well you know how I've become ... 

Obese, is how they call it now instead of fat.

 

But as my school is organising a reunion next month,

a former classmate sent me this picture.

We were 17. Dressed like farmers, I don't remember why.

I am in the upper right, with the short blonde girl hanging on my arm,

firmly believing I was fat.

Feeling fat. 

Because my mother said I was.

 

How things could have been different...

Or not.

We'll never know. 

 

 

Clara 

 I posted this on LinkedIn (in Dutch) and already regret it, because it's way too long.
But anyways ...

‘If you want good quality, you have to pay more.’

and

‘We want to increase productivity.’

We’ve heard those ‒ seemingly unrelated ‒ sentences so often that we don’t even give them a second thought any more. They have become ‘truths’. Dogmas.

But are they really?

Take, for example, a cupboard made by a carpenter and one that you’ve assembled yourself – usually after a fair bit of swearing and with the odd screw too many or too few.

Or take a meal you’ve prepared at home with fresh, organic produce, and then a ready-made dish from the supermarket that you just need to heat up.

Or take (it was bound to come up) a translation made by a translator and then one that’s been spit out by AI in record time and then blindly copied.

I think we will all agree.

The products in the second category are much cheaper and less time-consuming than those in the first.

And yet, on the face of it, they seem just as good, stylish or tasty as the first.

But if you look a bit closer, feel them, taste or read them, you’ll notice they’re almost clones. They’re all exactly the same cupboards (with the odd screw too many or too few), the same meals and, yes… the same texts.

Sure, they make a good first impression, but as soon as you move on with your day, you've forgotten about them.

And yes, there are a few ‘flaws’ here and there. They're not quite as sturdy, healthy or appealing as ‘the real deal’.

That’s why you pay more for good quality.

Right?

I'm not so sure.

I’m no expert, but I doubt that hand-carved cupboards and home-cooked meals are actually that much sturdier or better than they were fifty years ago.

And if my translations – because I am a bit of an expert in that field – are better than they were ten years ago, that’s thanks to experience, not because I was less capable back then.

And proportionally speaking, prices haven’t risen that much either. Handmade furniture used to cost a small fortune; you’d buy it when you got married and it was meant to last a lifetime.

My own rates have remained the same for years and, in some cases, have even been reduced.

So now tell me, does good quality cost more?

No.

Poor quality costs less.

Because when you maximise the productivity of any product or service, you end up with mass production of lower quality, and prices decrease.

So what if we put it this way from now on?

No longer “Well, you pay more for good quality.”

but

“Well, you pay less for poor quality.”

Wouldn’t that change our perception?

And wouldn’t we then, every now and then,

opt for quality after all?

clara

 Beach days in September are beautifully melancholic, in many ways.

 Melancholic because summer is over, everyone present knows summer is over and yet we still want to hold onto it, don’t want to let go, want to live in the illusion that we’ll forever be coming here, in the splendid warm sun.

 Melancholic because the beach is almost empty and the people who are there are mostly retired. It changes the vibe, it unexplainably brings a little sadness. The joy of summer is gone, the energy of children playing and splattering, mothers mothering, young people flirting and checking out each other’s almost naked body … It’s all gone and forgotten, washed away by the waves.

At the same time it’s beautiful because the few people who ARE there, are there purely and solely because they want to. In summer everyone runs to the beach because it’s the only place you can find a little relief from the brutal heath. September-people are there because they love the beach or the sea or both. And they enjoy it with every fibre of their blubbering, wrinkled body. There’s some kind of unspoken understanding, an unnamed sense of ‘only we know the real meaning of la dolce vita’.

 And this year, it was beautiful because today, on September 16^th, we finally had the weather and temperatures that used to be normal during July and August. A splendid sun that wants to caress you, not kill you. A golden warmth that kisses your skin instead of burning it away. Fresh water that makes your whole body tingle instead of a warm broth to soak in.

And then there is the melancholy of knowing that those lovely summers are a thing of the past that will only continue to exist in our memory.
And in September
before that becomes a memory as well.

clara

 Maybe
the best part
of the end of summer
is the first night
without AC nor fan.

To sleep in silence
for the first time 
in 3 months
is an indescribable pleasure.

clara

Memento

May this post become a memory. 

When I look back in 6 months, a year.

May this post become a memory of a time

when I would try and take him out of the house,

have him take his mind off of things, 

and he'd inevitably end up talking about wanting to kill himself because life with this much pain is not worth living.

May this become a memory,

no longer a reality,

and may it be soon,

please. 

 

 

Clara 

 

 Birthdays.

When the summer runs on its last legs,

the family birthdays start.

This was number 1

 

 

Father and daughter 

Father and daughter and me.

 

These pictures make me think about pictures I've seen of the Lion King's parents and friends when they were young, and pictures of my father and uncles & aunts with my grandparents, who both died when my father was still very young. 

I can imagine people looking at our pictures in 50 or even 100 years the way I look at those pictures in black and white, of people I've never known,

from another time,

and that somehow were so very alive,

while they've been dead for so long now,

on the verge of being forgotten.

 

Or I think of the pictures of the Lion King from little over a year ago,

when we had no idea yet that he had cancer.

But today is today.

Here and now. 

And it was a good day.

Let's focus on that.

 

Clara 

 

 "How is Boebelien?" my friend asked. "You haven't sent me pictures since the beginning of summer."

 That's because I have barely seen her all summer. She gets up in the evening, spends all night outside and goes to sleep again in the morning.

Basically like a cranky teenager.

 

And I have tried to make pictures of her, all summer, but she literally hasn't stood or sit up for more than 5 seconds straight, so this is all I got:

 

 All joking aside... Summer here has been interminable and atrocious.

For people and  for cats.

Clara 

 Not having any work to do, is quite stressful...

But it has its perks...

 

Clara 

Rant

 Last week, my (almost only remaining) translation client said:
"I feel like you're always out and about lately"
meaning that I'm not at home working.

And although at the moment itself,
as usual,
I was too baffled to really answer anything,
I felt angry about it for almost a week.

Except I didn't know what I was angry about.
That she's not the boss of me. I'm a freelancer, she can exploit me in any way she wants,
but as long as I get the job done in time, I don't owe her any explanation about where or when I work.

That for the past 4-5 months The Lion King is almost unable to walk, he has been officially declared 100% disabled. Hopefully it's temporary, but it is where we stand now.
That means I have to accompany him everywhere he needs to go. Lots of medical appointments. But also, if I sit at my desk and work all day every day, he has to stay at home as well. Locked inside, because the heat outside is unbearable.
So yes, we go to the beach on weekdays. We go to the mall, because there's AC.
Yes, she may be a complete workaholic, but I have more and other responsibilities and other people to take care of.

But yes, also, because she's right. F*cking artificial intelligence is eating away all work opportunities and I can't seem to find a new niche, can't seem to reinvent myself and attract new clients and more income.
And it's frustrating and worrying.

So I may as well be out and about.

clara

 So last year we were at the beach and the man next to us had this beautiful tattoo on his back.
For those who know Naples, that's not just a fantasy castle, it's the Maschio Angioino :

So yes, I asked if I could make a picture of it.

And for those who know, Neapolitans like tattoos.
I'd guess that at least one in three people has a tattoo (I have a small one myself).

And I don't even really know why, but I started photographing back tattoos on the beach.
Knowing how timid I am by nature,
you can imagine this was far outside my comfort zone. 
Every time I had to ask if I could make a picture
and I can guarantee you that men with back tattoos often are not the most approachable species on earth.
And I let a couple of them go because I didn't have the balls to ask them.

But noone ever said no.
It's their back, so their face is not in it, 
therefore they are fine with it.
And also,
I think,
if you have such a gigantic work on your back,
you usually are proud of it, right?
So most people were flattered when I wanted to make a picture.

Today (yes, we went to the beach on a Wednesday - again)
I noticed that I actually wanted to ask more.
"How long have you had it?"
"What's the meaning behind it?"
"How long did it take to make this masterpiece?"
...
I realized my comfort zone has been stretched out quite a bit.
Therefore,
the end of summer will be the end of the experiment.

But here are some of the prettiest :

 

Clara 

Ode

 My aunt Erika died.

She was 91, so we can't be too dramatic about it
and she's lived a full life, though not without a good deal of struggles.
I hope it was also a fulfilled life, but she's the only one to know that.

When I was little, she was my favourite aunt.

She was probably everyone's favourite aunt.
She was fond of children, but didn't have any of her own.
So during summer holidays, all nieces and nephews took turns in 'going on vacation at aunt Erika's',
always in pairs of two
 (my father had 12 brothers and sisters, so there were quite a few of us).

When I was older, I got to know her as a wise but stubborn woman,
who had no interest in superficiality but looked for deeper, spiritual truths.

In these past days, I have realized that I have adopted some of her habits or characteristics.
Just like she did, I have a cupboard with colouring books, games and puzzles for the grandchildren,
and when they were little and came to visit us, they immediately ran to 'their cupboard'.
I am the favourite 'aunt' of each and every one of them, at least until they start puberty.
And I think I have some of her weariness of society.

Of course, I have learned and adopted much more from my mother,
my father,
my Love
and if you think of it,
we learn from every person we ever meet
- as long as we're not too absorbed by ourselves.

Thinking of that, 
it feels as if I can see the seams of society,
keeping us all together,
expanding,
making humanity go on,
generation after generation,
as a never ending spiderweb.


clara

 Lazy Sunday.

Since about 5 months, the Lion King is unable to walk independently for more than a couple of meters, a consequence of his cancer intervention at the end of last year. 

That's why we're spending as much time as possible at the sea, in the water, because it's the only way to leave the house without being too much in pain.

But on Sundays we go out for breakfast and try a short walk in the park.

Some days are better, some are worse.

Today was worse,

so we made it short and spent the rest of the day with dolce far niente.

 

Clara 

 Neapolitans don't like to plan in advance.

I think it has to do with living in the shadow of a vulcano that will sooner or later wipe out half of Italy (or more).

 'There is no certainty about tomorrow, so let's enjoy today' really is pretty engrained in the way they live.

Even after ten plus years, that philosophy still isn't even slightly engrained in me, but I do admit that it has some good aspects, every now and then.

Because just when I thought my holidays were as good as over and today all I would do would be clean, iron (with a view) and moan about my period,

 

Enzo, the son-in-law, called to ask if we felt like eating una zuppa di cozze (typical Neapolitan dish based on mussels) tonight.

Luckily we found a restaurant that's open (because you know, national holiday week) and it was...

 

 

Clara