A Carpet of Flowers

Outside our house we have a gorgeous tree covered in a multitude of pink blossoms. We had a bit of a wind recently, which dislodged several blossom petals, who drifted down to our front walk. When I opened the door, it was as if our whole, tiny front yard had been covered in a pink carpet.

Every once in a while I look out the window and see petals falling. It's snowing! I think.
On a different note, I would like to broadcast the fact that I am working on a novel about my how many greats grandfather, Jose Pimentel. Any information about him, his wife Rosa Freitas, or any of their siblings, parents, friends, etc, would be appreciated.
Before I post this I would like to apologize for my absence from this blog. I am afraid I don't have much to offer, but I'll try to write more often from now on.

We were walking in the gorgeous spring weather when Isaac told me, "You know, when I was born was the first time I ever saw Holland!"

Swedish Easter witches

I always pick up the supermarket's free magazine--gorgeous glossy photos to look at, recipes that specify ingredients I can actually buy here, and a fairly easy level of Dutch to read. This month they interviewed a Swedish woman who now lives here in Holland about the Swedish Easter traditions she misses. When I read this to David, he figured that my powers of invention outweigh my skill in Dutch, but I swear this is a good translation from the article:

"There is an old legend that around Easter witches fly on their broomsticks to a secret place where they meet with the devil. And so on the Thursday before Easter all the children dress up as little Easter witches and they go door to door with decorated boxes. They wish people happy Easter and in return everybody gives them candy."

So pull out those witch costumes. It's Easter!

Ping and the Wise-eyed Boat

Eleanor picked The Story of Ping (by Marjorie Flack) when we were last at the library. She's still a little young for it, but Isaac has seized upon it as his favorite library book of the week. The first time I read it to him it was more fun to look at him than at the Caldecott-winning illustrations: he gasped, his eyes went wide, he grabbed my arm, and, at the happy ending, gave a contented sigh and snuggled into me, a peaceful smile on his face. Since then, he has had me read it to him over and over, he has read it to his siblings (when he reads it, the title is "Ping and the Wise-eyed Boat"), and we have acted it out. Not bad for a book that's 74 years old this year.