Anne van Meij

A year ago, that song was played gray here. We were just a few weeks into lockdown, enthusiastically doing crafts that we showed to the teacher via a special app, while in the background Elly and Rikkert sang about a little donkey, a stone for a grave, and a spring that came again. Just as we hoped that the normal life we knew before the lockdown would return.

Weather.

The writers among us know how tricky the word "again" is, and what you're drawn to, especially early in your writing career, as one of the filler words you can do without. Nine times out of ten, it also doesn't fit the context at all. Take, for example, the sentence "I picked up the book and put it down again. That sounds logical because you picked up the book again in its place where it was before, but if you haven't put the book down before as well, that word "again" in this sentence doesn't make sense. After all, it suggests that it is the act of putting it down that you are doing again. Yes, language is as complicated as life itself. And, at the same time, very logical.

Spring coming again, and yet not.

When we just moved into our new house, I wanted a garden full of flowers and greenery. There was a magnolia, lilacs and even a butterfly bush. We started small with those dastardly shrubs that you overlook at the garden center, but in our modest thirteen-in-the-sky suburban location actually did quite well. I also added a white and a wisteria a year later.

Every spring I look forward to the blooms. How many flowers would bloom in the magnolia this time? Will there be another bunch more in the lilacs or is it mostly leaves again? And will I finally have as many wisteria as my in-laws?

Every year is different. The lilacs are even bigger than last year, and instead of five, there are as many as seven flowers on the magnolia this year. It is a sign that spring is coming, just like every year, and yet it is not the same. It is not "again" or another "once," it is different and yet recognizable.

Back to Easter

Because that is the theme of this somewhat chaotic blog. Easter this year had to be again be celebrated under lockdown conditions. Like my father's birthday, which last year was the first in the family to have a lockdown birthday (and thus no birthday). But, we said, next year we'll do it again like all those previous years.

Weather.

There's that little word again. Indeed, it became again Easter. And also my father's birthday came again past. Yet it was different from all the years before. That one-visitor-per-day rule was neatly enforced, courtesy of the hospital staff, we ate cake separately in our own bubble and sang through the phone "Long may he live" and "Happy Easter. Only something new had been added: the conscious realization that nothing, even the success moment of the day before, can be taken for granted. That not everything will come back "again. There is always a time before and a time after, but it is never the same. Everything passes. My magnolia will be out of bloom again in a few weeks, the lilac clusters will be fragrant until mid-July, and as for that wisteria, it remains to be seen, as nothing is happening there so far.

Just like Easter.

This year, for the first time, I understood the idea behind Easter. Particularly the "Silent Saturday" part which, to my mind, does take a very long time. We are diligently looking for points of light, which will come no matter what, but will we recognize them? Or will it be different from what we are used to?

It will be spring again, I'm sure, but every year in a different form. What has been, you have had and that is good. The magnolia flower that bloomed so beautifully last year does not bloom this year, but is passed on in the flower that is about to bloom now. The lilacs get their strength from previous years and because the butterfly bush had the space last year, it will come back bigger this year.

So yes, it is Easter and we celebrate it. The merriment this year, however, is no elaborate lunch and chocolate eggs. I myself remain on the edge of Silent Saturday for a while longer. I get the concept, but still I hope the wisteria will bloom again this year, as it did last year.