Last Spring, we visited Amsterdam on our way to Venice for a Mediterranean cruise. Originally, we had just a short layover in the city, but we extended it to a full day to do some exploring. I secured some advanced tickets for the popular Anne Frank annex tour, and a room at the Marriott, of course. Our plan was to buy seats on the Hop On Hop Off bus, and eventually get-off at the Frank home. It was a miserable day, freezing cold with snow flurries so we did a couple loops on the warm bus instead of braving the weather prior to our scheduled tour. The next morning I got lost on my morning run, with a wall of wind prohibiting much forward movement. I did a lot of directional changes to keep the biting wind as much at my back as possible and ultimately had to have help finding my way back to the hotel. My goal was to run through the famous Red Light District, but I’m not sure how much of it I actually saw.

My wife added a small pair of wooden shoes to my office shelves that were a gift from her brother. It seemed to fit the Windmill Limoges box that I bought to finally commemorate our brief Holland adventure. The porcelain boxes are a tradition dating back to when my wife and I first started dating. Each one that I present includes a short poem. She was expecting a Thanksgiving themed box , but most of her collection was packed away while the painters worked. I thought I would add to her travel category instead, catching up from that overdue “Windmills & Wooden Shoes” experience. While composing the poem, I also thought of our Oregon excursions, including a drive to Woodburn for the Tulip Festival.

About four and half years ago we entered the state of Oregon on I-84 from neighboring Utah in a caravan of three family vehicles carrying five pets and three people. In the time we’ve lived here, we’ve since driven north to Seattle, down the Oregon Coast from Astoria to Coos Bay, into California via I-5, and most recently to Crater Lake. Next week’s drive to Bend and Mt. Bachelor will fulfill our goal of seeing each distinct area of the state, before my wife’s company Meredith moves us to another city. If not, we’ll stay here until she joins me in retirement. Hopefully, the latter will happen, so we can finally get full use & value out of our current home.

The Windmill Limoges has a similar design to the Moulin Rouge hinged-box I bought her to remember last year’s river cruise from Paris to Normandy. Each poem captures some of the details of the travel adventures we’ve experienced together. When she puts them all together in cabinets and on shelves, it’s a romantic time-line of our relationship that means the world to both of us. I enjoy buying them and reading the poems, while she’s constantly organizing them into groups representing the holidays, landmarks we’ve visited, Disney characters, food & drink, gardening, etc. We found one at a great price the other day at an antique shop next to where we were having lunch. Sometimes, I hide some little trinkets inside along with a silly poem like this:

 

Windmills & Wooden Shoes

Love from Amsterdam,
Despite winter chills.
We toured Anne Frank,
And saw a few windmills.

I couldn’t help notice,
On my office shelves.
Dutch wooden shoes,
Probably worn by elves.

A gift from your brother,
Since the first grade.
For tiny little feet,
And clearly homemade.

We’ve seen the tulips,
In muddy Woodburn.
On Thanksgiving,
Bend gets its turn.

It’s all a part,
Of our Oregon tour.
As the travel bug,
Continues to stir.

From Astoria,
To Crater Lake.
A few more stops,
Are left to make.

It’s been our home,
For four years now.
How much longer,
Will Meredith allow?

We’ll go to Holland,
Again someday.
We hope to see,
A warmer day.

This windmill looks,
Like Moulin Rouge.
Both off a bucket list,
That once loomed huge.

We’ll cross off more,
Once back to Disneyland.
From Banisters to Phoenix,
Before we get to Thailand,

I’m sure you’ll unwrap,
A porcelain Christmas.
May we find our travels,
Full of love & free of fuss.

Copyright 2018
Johnstonwrites.com