San Francisco to Rijswijk

H&MB sweetly came and picked me up at Schiphol. We pressed our noses against the glass partition between baggage claim and the arrivals hall. They were coming from lunch with Ageeth in the Beemster, just north of Amsterdam. On the drive home I jabbered about the landscape and history of the Southwest, and about some of the people we'd met and some of the places we'd stayed.  401 Clavecimbellaan has been stripped of paintings and books and bookshelves. It echoes. Yet it doesn't feel like things are really missed. Who needs them? H&MB don't seem too bothered. "It's been a gradual process, so we've gotten used to it as we've gone along." For MB, it's been the hardest move because she's doing more of it herself (both in terms of the split of tasks with H, as well as there being no company movers to help out). But she doesn't seem too fussed about leaving Holland. "We haven't been here that long - just 10 years." And for H, the hardest thing has been the change to his night routine. He cut his finger stumbling in the dark last night. Things (the bed, the commode, the bookshelves) aren't exactly where they're supposed to be. I thought the main difference was that the linolium was ripped up last week (and the room has a musty smell to it now). Reflected that he'll have quite a few new room arrangements to get used to: at the Bastion, then Jim's, and finally their new flat at Asbury. Brood-maaltijd with Monique's left-over sweet-sour zucchini-tomato soup. Fixed Skype on Huub's computer, and got connected to the WiFi on mine.