Let's talk about 'Wadden Tears'

 Yes, they do exist, Wadden Tears.

Are they different from other tears? Not in substance; they are wet, fill ones eyes, roll down ones cheeks and taste salt when they reach the corners of ones mouth.
Though the emotions behind tears differ. They can be caused by loss and this on it's own is divided in many sub emotions: missing a loved one, home sickness, income....
Tears caused by physical pain. Falling from your bike, down the stairs, head ache, an operation...
Or caused by incapacity, frustration, anger. And of course, last but not least, by happiness!

Tears have a purpose. They give air to emotions, relief you from pressure.
Sometimes one cries without wanting it. And not everybody cries easily, like myself. I simply can not cry unless my heart aches tremendously but even then I can not cry when someone else is around.
The kind words: "Please cry, it helps." do not land in my system. Too many genes from my father's side. My grandmother went through many losses but was not known to cry. Friesian stubbornness?

Some people cry to manipulate; to put pressure on a wish of which they know can not or will not be granted. Or seeking compassion to feed their ego.To reach a selfish goal, to impress or to weaken the other person.
True sorrow reaches my heart but manipulating tears freeze me and I shut myself off for the manipulator.

But there are times that my eyes are filled with tears but I do not call it crying.
Since my move to this lovely fishing village near the Wadden Sea, I walked many many miles, regardless the weather. Those who know me, know I love the rain and mist and prefer cold(er) temperatures. Therefore you find me often outdoors, inhaling the fresh air, the smell of the magnificent and ever changing Wadden. Listening to the waves and the birds or just silence during low tide. The wind through my hair and the rain on my face,
Admiring the stunning clouds drifting by, wishing them to lift me up, to take me with them. To embrace me.

I am almost always on my own with my dogs, no other people around which causes a change in dimensions: I feel tiny and humble. A little figure in an immense world with it's own seasons.
Being there I can not change the tides, the weather, the moon or sun. Nor the directions the birds fly, nor birth or death of the animals that live in and around the sea.
The only thing I can and will do, is being there and undergo the beauty I am surrounded with.
And it is not until I taste salt that I know tears found their way to the corners of my smiling mouth, my heart overflowing with thankfulness.

There is something about the Wadden that brings forgotten emotions to the surface.
And it happens to other people as well.
Tot the man who lost his wife to Cancer, a few years ago. He stood there, tears dripping at the collar of his coat. But with a smile. He told me his story and said: "I often come here to be healed. The Wadden is a healing place, so full of compassion".

Or the lady dressed in thick winter clothes, almost invisible under a fluffy hat, who looked for items - preferable bones - she could use to underline her speeches. She was a 'mourn lady', a woman who talked on funerals, asked by the family of the diseased. 
But all of a sudden she bursted into tears, explaining she could not cope with the Corona restrictions anymore, not knowing where the world was heading to. 
When she finally calmed down, she said: "You know, that is another reason why I walk here. The Wadden opens up feelings I am not always aware of. It allows me to cry, it never judges".

Photo: Ike Roelfsema

The lady at the bench, her left arm folded over the back, her right hand resting in her lap holding the lease of her dog. We talked and talked. Then tears in her eyes and she swallowed bravely: "I come here often, Helen. To be away from daily life. As I just told you, at home we have a lot on our plate. But I have not told you my husband is diagnosed with quick deteriorating Parkinson. Walking near the Wadden Sea is comforting me. I feel loved and hugged. The Wadden give. Not just love but also energy to cope for the time until I return here again". We hugged.

The girl who sat on an elevation in the landscape. With a straight back, her hands folded in her lap.
She did not notice me, her eyes were fixed at the seascape in front of her.
She cried in silence. Her tears carried all her sorrows to the sea where they mingled with the waves until they were invisible. Then she smiled and walked away.

The restless man with the low self esteem who often sat near the sea or walked through the salt marshes because The Wadden accepted him the way he was; no judgment, no high expectations.
And he inhaled the love nature gave him. The wind dried his tears.

People, stories, all different, all their own emotions but all turning to the Wadden for the same reason: unconditional love without questioning.

This is true fortune my lovely readers and worth a few thankful tears.


Lots of love,

Helen, xxx

Let's talk about Hands

Hands...
I am not blessed with slender elegant hands, fit for the finest leather gloves.
My hands are (so I think) average. Not long nor short. Not slender nor big.
I maintain them the best I can: hand cream, equal long nails, occasionally with a red polish but I can't hide that these hands have been busy all their life and not only behind the computer.
When a teenager I got my Free Time Millers degree, I have been a veterinarian assistant (loved to work on farms during my training, even though cattle manure was sometimes up my Bra), I do not wear gloves when gardening or house painting and I do pick up things from the sea shore.

No gloves, I need to feel texture for better grip or understanding.
I need to feel sand, mud, water, warmth and cold. Seeing me with warm cosy gloves in Winter is a rarity. Maybe these are all the same reason why I do not wear socks. I love walking barefoot, I need direct surface contact with my skin.
Walking  barefoot in a forest, to feel the soil, old leaves, branches. For me this is one way of feeling close to nature.

When shaking hands, I prefer to feel the temperature of the hands I shake.
It is not just the skin but also the way some one shakes hands that tells me a lot about the other person.
The look too! I love strong hands which shake brief and firmly. Which I prefer to call the No Nonsense Shake. If you ask me what I miss in this non touching Covid time then it is a handshake.

Now we wave, or an elbow (impossible when you need to keep 1,5 metres distance, my arms are not that long). Oke, yes, waving also tells something about the person who waves at you. Feminine, masculine, shy, straight forward etc). And during waving (if not too far away) I can observe the hand.

Back to the exterior of the hands. They do not need to be smooth and soft. I don't mind if they show signs of hard working either by labour or arts (sculptors, veterinarians, builders, gardeners, to name a few). These hands are used and very much alive.

Hands tell much about a character or a way of life. I always look at hands, not so much the female but definitely the male.
Once I stood near a man who had very soft blank hands which did not match his age but did match his face and his shy eyes. Like the man, they looked unused. My verdict just by watching his hands: 'A bachelor. And not only that but also a virgin'. Of course I can be wrong but I seldom am.
Or the man with hands covered in paint, matching the colour of paint flakes in the hair. A man of labour but the nails were short, the hands strong. Someone who loves his profession and who is good at it.

I  observed that little soft fluffy hands often belong to insecure men. Those with red cheeks like an off spring of Father Christmas. Shy or always laughing and full of jokes but most likely inside very shy.
Shaking a soft jelly hand is polite but I let go immediately.

But in general I prefer a quick but firm handshake when meeting some one for the very first time. Just long enough to sense the other, to make up my mind. I like to feel strength and a certain distance. Arm not totally stretched but almost. And please one (1) shake.....

I know, there are people who shake and shake, the other hand around my wrist or elbow (please don't... I feel imprisoned). They don't let go. With every word of how nice it is to meet you and how much they have been looking forward to this moment, comes a shake. And they fasten their grip if you let go.
These shakers are often also too close, the noses of their shoes almost touching mine. Bless the Covid restrictions.
I find these people very overwhelming, very certain of their own charm and self awareness. Pouring it out  on me. Help!!!
Happening to me, I learned to squeeze, firmly. Or preferable over firmly. And to keep smiling, looking the other person straight in the eyes. And above all to keep my arms as straight as possible until the brains of the other finally register pumping my arm wasn't a good idea. Extravert Shaker versus Introvert Non Shaker.

Or the Charming Josefs who shake once but who are reluctant to let go and therefore using a finger to strike the palm of your hand including your wrist (not that this often happens to me, my eyes usually turn warning dark brown with Charming Josefs).

I recognize surgeons by their hands. Very short nails, very clean and no hair from scrubbing thoroughly.
The country Vet: scrubbed well, short nails and strong, used to heavy work.

I can be very short about slippery sweaty hands, I try to avoid them but are often too polite.
I am blessed with colder hands but I hate it when mine are sweating too in warm weather conditions and apologise rather than wiping them off before shaking. By apologising I let the other the choice to shake or not.

I love to see older hands with the veins on top, seeing the heart beat in these veins. Hands that show a long life, living hands.
As a child already I liked hands like that, they fascinate me and I can't wait to have them too.
I love drawings and photo's of these hands but do not master the artistic skills to eternalize them on paper. I find them elegant. Strong and vulnerable at the same time. Those hands I like to touch, follow the veins. They tell a long story.

Photo: Ike Roelfsema

Handshaking differs per country, not everyone shakes a full hand. Some only the fingertips, briefly. Rather not than well but being polite. Being used to a firm handshake I sometimes feel confused if some one only touches the fingertips. But of course respect.

Why a firm total handshake and not only the fingertips? But this is personal, it tells me more (but not all) about a character. Eyes and hands are a good combination. Frankness is appreciated, a certain distance too. It is only when I get to know someone better and only when it feels good, that a hug is also appreciated.

Last but not least, the touch of a lover. That very unique intimate touch. Holding hands, exploring, entangled fingers, touching palms. Striking finger(s). Skin to skin.
Strong hands, experienced, trustworthy, honest. The feeling of being at home, at ease, longing for more.

Love,

Helen

Let's talk about Dark Skies

 Skies, the Wadden Sea has them in all sorts, sizes and colours. High skies, low skies, hazy or strong.
There is not something like no sky. The sky is everywhere, all around us, like a caring parent, hugging, comforting, embracing, holding.

I love the sky, love the clouds, love rain and wind. And the sky seems to love me, surprises me every day again.
My days always start early and when it is really bad weather, rain pouring down on my roof, I like to stay in bed to listen to the music on my roof tiles. But usually I get up and take my dogs out for a walk along the coast. Not always to their delight but be fair, they do not melt.

My office day is from 8 till 6 with a lunch hour in between. During office days I have set myself the goal of 6 km walking but often exceed this.
Watching and hearing the Wadden waking up is a treat, a gift I treasure close to my heart. The best moments are when the night is fading into the day, even without sunshine.

To you a grey day might look just grey but when you carefully observe, you will also find silver.
Sometimes like polished silver, sometimes like old silver with traces of use, wearing, being loved and treasured. There are so many nuances in layers, feathers or fluffy cottons. Or high mountains.
And near the Wadden Sea, particularly when the tide is low and the clay like a polished mirror, the reflections are breathtaking. Double beauty.

Also breathtaking are the moments  when the sun rises. Her rays colouring the sky, the edges of the clouds. In a warm pink or beautiful gold. Or with pastel veils, chasing the night away.
This transition from night to day is a miracle I happily observe.
And it is not just the sky but also wildlife. Birds wake up, start chatting, perform their first flight, take a bath. The geese are masters in flying and chatting, you can hear them everywhere. And if you are lucky to see a flight of geese which do not chat, you will hear the sound of their wings, like a soft wind rubbing feathers.
Have you ever heard a gaggle (flock) of grazing geese that all of a sudden decides to fly?
It is a deep dark sound, like drums and it is very impressive.

There are so many birds near the Wadden Sea and all add their own joy and sound.
Sometimes I envy them and would like to fly away as well. Join them to unknown horizons. Viewing the world from above. The weightless freedom of being one with the sky.
Instead I dig my boots firmly into the clay and watch, listen and feel.

Feeling nature is something I need. I need to feel the cold, even when my fingers get numb. It means I am alive. I need to feel the wind, the silk raindrops that sometimes mingle with my happy tears.
Taste those drops.
Often I also want to feel the low clouds. I want to stretch my arms to hug them. I ask them to lift me up and carry me in their fluffy arms. Or dance with me during a storm, like a lover, giving me the pleasure of laughing.
Dancing, not only early mornings or evenings. No, dancing through the night. Either pitch black or lit by millions of stars swirling in the dark silent sky.

March is a wonderful month, she delivers quiet days but also storms. Blue days but also rain.
A glorious sunset does not mean a glorious day tomorrow, or vice versa.
March loves to surprise, to tease. She carries the promise of Spring but also the last bits of Winter which she happily passes on to April.

Photo: Ike Roelfsema

I love March, I love clouds but that is not a secret.
The past weeks were busy, more or less chaotic.
I like  my work tremendously, like everything that crosses my path and needs attention but sometimes my head is too occupied, spinning in the small environment called office.
And then I escape to my so beloved Wadden Sea. Not only close to where I live but also close to my heart.
I admit there are times I need a hug, two comfortable arms that just hold me and do not ask.
But they are not available and nature is. And nature never fails to comfort me, to make me happy, smile.

When I feel the cold wind or the warm sun rays, when I hear the birds and the waves, when I taste the rain or snow, when I see the numerous colours, I am so so so thankful.

In my imagination I spread my arms. Not only to hug the clouds but to spread the treasures of nature, hoping the sparkles will lit your world.

Love,

Helen XXX