I was looking at my e-mail today and noticed that one of Alexander’s relatives had written us. Alexander has this gigantic family and there is no way I can remember everyone, so quite frankly I stopped trying a long time ago. We started discussing his family back up north and playing the game of “who is that again?” just for fun, anyway. Alexander gets to a female on his side and I say, “Oh I know her. She’s very standoffish.” Luke doesn’t skip a beat and says, “Eh. I’m not surprised. With all the medication she’s on.”
At this I whip my head around in instant interest. “Tell me more But alas, my hubby didn’t know anymore, nor did he want to. See, I married a Dutch man. For people who are not Dutch, marrying one and entering a big extended Dutch family can be quite a shock.
First, there’s the food. Ham buns. Ham buns for everything. And when I say ham buns, I mean a thin slice of ham on a bun. No cheese. Not really any condiments. Maybe some mustard if you’re lucky. Now, I did come from a particularly large Dutch settlement up north, so I’m not sure if these things run true for all Dutch, or just the large area my hubby came from but let me tell you about ham buns: they are nothing special. Go make one. I’ll wait Why this “meal” is served at every big event I’ll never know.
The second thing about my hubby and his-Dutchiness is the cheap factor. Now, I’m not saying the Dutch are cheap. That would be like calling me a drunk because I’m Irish. But I am saying that my hubby and his family and extended family have a way with money. I’ll give you an example. Pennies. I was going to the store yesterday to pick up a drink. Luke had been rolling pennies. He turns to me, proudly hands me some rolls of pennies and says, “Think they will take pennies?” Now I’m sure they would, but I’m not going to find out. Or his sandals, for example. He bought sandals that didn’t fit his feet right. Instead of donating them and buying a new pair, he just dealt with the blisters, walking in agony, hobbling along like Frodo.
But the thing that really gets to me about the Dutch way of life is the keeping to themselves. Like the relative on medication. If one of my relatives was on medication, and someone told me, I’d at least ask why. Because I’m nosy. I’ll say to Alex, “Hey how’s Billy (a mutual friend)?” He’ll shrug and say, “I don’t know. He said he can’t wait to kick his daughter out of the house.” When I ask more about it, he merely says, “I don’t know. I didn’t ask him anything else.” Or, say, his brother. Alexander can talk to his brother for 20 minutes on the phone without actually finding out how he is. Often makes me wonder if he really pays attention when I talk So if you enter the world of the Dutch, just a forewarning: everyone will tell you they are “fine”, but it doesn’t really mean they are. Fine in Dutch is a range of emotions from “I just won the lotto, sucker!” to “I’m so exhausted I could fall asleep talking to you.” Stick around long enough and they might let you into their world. It’s been 5 years for me, and every once in awhile, Alex or one of his relatives lets something slip. An emotion, an expensive guilt-ridden purchase, some insight into their feelings and it’s usually all over ham buns.
