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For a long time my taste buds were extremely nationalistic. They exclusively wanted products of Dutch origin. Potatoes, rhubard, green beans, kale, sauerkraut, Hema-sausages, croquettes and meatballs . As well as pancakes, poffertjes, bread, milk, cheese and sprinkles.
Today everything has changed though. I prefer spicy meals now. In particular Feby, our daughter-in-law, converted me. She really knows how to cook the Padang kitchen. Sheer Indonesian excellence. A master chef. I’m convinced she beats “Garuda Padang Cuisine” ( nr 79 in the Daily Meal’s top-100 Asian restaurants in the world). Her meals offer glimpses of paradise. When we are her guests for dinner I usually awkwardly try to conceal from others present that I keep reloading my plate. And whenever we drop in for just an occasional visit, I often try to sneak into her kitchen unnoticed. It’s the culinary goldmine where I hope to find some moments of food-related happiness. Some rendang for instance or one of her other delicious treats. Nothing better than the guilty secret of savouring a few products of her cooking. Okay, I guess you may call it theft  .
Officially I keep these bad habits a secret, though I’m afraid my growing embonpoint gives me away.
Men – and perhaps women as well- lie even more about their being well-read, than they do about their performance in bed. That’s what Adriaan van Dis, a well known Dutch author, says. He may well be right. I myself tend to brag I read everything from Socrates to Sartre and from Homerus to Haruki Murakami. But I use to forget to tell that I’ve forgotten almost all of the contents of their books.
Actually, to be honest, reading books is just a pretext. My real urge, which I try to hide , is possessing books. Collect them, feel them, smell them and most of all secretly enjoy the sight of hundreds of them on the bookshelves. By my calculated guess there are some five thousand titles under my rooftop by now. They are in the living room, the corridor, my study and in the attic. Shelves are everywhere in our house .
So, with my senior citizen’s ample leisure time at my disposal , I can give in to my secret pleasure all day. The age of E-books is not for me.
Twice a year they fly from Jakarta to Schiphol and stay with us for a couple of weeks. Which happens to be right now. It’s the ultimate opportunity for bonding with my grandson Kris.
Today I discovered blowing bubbles together is one of the secret pleasures attached to it:
 .
Today is my wife’s birthday, it’s the day springtime begins and the one my blogging ends.
After way over 500 posts since I joined “Pelopor” in ’07, I ran out of steam. It didn’t go unnoticed that I kept on repeating myself lately. Dull. Boring. Lame. Tedious even.
And that’s something potential readers and I obviously agree on. So it’s time to take a deep breath and to decide to stop. To check out. To quit. To bid farewell. To draw the final curtain.
Well, to be on the safe side let’s leave some room for a change of mind later on. After all Indonesia and it’s people will always be too fascinating, too surprising and too worthwhile to stop paying attention to. I will keep my eye on news dealing with it’s developments and incidents. And will stay true to my favourite fellow bloggers. So it might be possible that I feel tempted to express my twisted and biased occasional opinion here once in a while in the future.
Yet this is my goodbye as regular blogger.
Thanks for your interest and comments.
Wish you well.
Jerry ( a.k.a. Colson)
Drugs trafficker Adami Wilson was caught with a kilo heroine, tried, sentenced to death, was on death row many years and was shot the other day.
That served him well, didn’t it? Because heroine is killing. Once you get hooked on this drug, you’re life is in ruins. You’re doomed and will be a miserable junk for the rest of your short miserable life.
Correction.
Continue reading Heroine isn’t Semtex and Capital Punishment isn’t Justice.
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