Otium / Otia
The Roman politicians went to their otia near the Adriatic sea, to avoid the heath of the city of Rome in summertimes. Since 20.000 elderly persons died in Paris, last 2003, it would be a wise thing to do, not just for me. I wonder, how old were these politicians and why only the politicians? It has been almost ten years now, since I have had the opportunity to visit the Otium, a lot of things have happened since then. I invented the worldartparty. www.worldartparty.blogspot.nl
First of all, I still like to go to the Otium, mainly for spacious reasons. And for doing nothing visibly. For a change. Sit and think. Remember. That kind of stuff.
I started to study history, three years ago. No, actually two years ago. I don't know how this works, but so many stories I have heard in the past, all pop-up. Stories my father told me about WW II for instance. He was between 4 and 8 years old, living in the city of Haarlem. With his mother, my grandmother, Frannie Baarda, married Sival Baarda, and his older brother, Frans Sival. He did not live with his father, Piet Sival, who was hiding for the militant Occupiers. How many years? I don't know. He didn't tell. Probably not more than 4 years. He was quite smart, Piet, the grandfather. And religious. He believed in the goodness of people and he was authority sensitive unlike me, he played the organ, he loved my grandmother with all his heart and being. He was very afraid and nervous at the end of his life. I was his darling grandchild. I kept answering all his questions. He liked a cigarillo or two after dinner. Something my sister and an older niece, both very intelligent and promoted women, in herited. Although the sister dips them in brandy. Just a matter of taste. We had a lot of fun, the old man and I, joking the world and especially all our family members and their habits.
Me twentytwo of age in the city of London, he passing away in the city of Utrecht. I made myself some promises.
Now and then I share a family story, with one or another parent, while waiting for the kids to drop out school. And I thought today, why not share it with you.
My uncle Albert
The Roman politicians went to their otia near the Adriatic sea, to avoid the heath of the city of Rome in summertimes. Since 20.000 elderly persons died in Paris, last 2003, it would be a wise thing to do, not just for me. I wonder, how old were these politicians and why only the politicians? It has been almost ten years now, since I have had the opportunity to visit the Otium, a lot of things have happened since then. I invented the worldartparty. www.worldartparty.blogspot.nl
First of all, I still like to go to the Otium, mainly for spacious reasons. And for doing nothing visibly. For a change. Sit and think. Remember. That kind of stuff.
I started to study history, three years ago. No, actually two years ago. I don't know how this works, but so many stories I have heard in the past, all pop-up. Stories my father told me about WW II for instance. He was between 4 and 8 years old, living in the city of Haarlem. With his mother, my grandmother, Frannie Baarda, married Sival Baarda, and his older brother, Frans Sival. He did not live with his father, Piet Sival, who was hiding for the militant Occupiers. How many years? I don't know. He didn't tell. Probably not more than 4 years. He was quite smart, Piet, the grandfather. And religious. He believed in the goodness of people and he was authority sensitive unlike me, he played the organ, he loved my grandmother with all his heart and being. He was very afraid and nervous at the end of his life. I was his darling grandchild. I kept answering all his questions. He liked a cigarillo or two after dinner. Something my sister and an older niece, both very intelligent and promoted women, in herited. Although the sister dips them in brandy. Just a matter of taste. We had a lot of fun, the old man and I, joking the world and especially all our family members and their habits.
Me twentytwo of age in the city of London, he passing away in the city of Utrecht. I made myself some promises.
Now and then I share a family story, with one or another parent, while waiting for the kids to drop out school. And I thought today, why not share it with you.
My uncle Albert
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